


Stanley McGucket

by The Last Speecher (HeidiMelone)



Series: Stanley McGucket [1]
Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Gen, Homophobic Language, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Period-Typical Homophobia, Trans Fiddleford H. McGucket, fiddauthor - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-23
Updated: 2016-09-17
Packaged: 2018-07-16 18:17:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 14
Words: 39,759
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7278667
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HeidiMelone/pseuds/The%20Last%20Speecher
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Thrown out of his home, young Stanley Pines struggles to get by, until a kind husband and wife offer him a steady job and a place to stay.  But little did he know that this New Jersey native would find a new home, and a new family, with them in Gumption, Arkansas.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. I'm Bound for Moving On

**Author's Note:**

> If the good times are all gone, so **I’m bound for moving on** – Neil Young, “Four Strong Winds”

Graduation was today. 

Stan didn't go.

He sat at the side of the road, next to his broken-down car. 

_The Stanleymobile is all I've got. I don't have cash. I can't fix her up._ He rubbed his face, trying not to cry. _Things just keep getting worse._

"Son? Is somethin' wrong?" Stan startled. A man was crouching in front of him. He had kind grey eyes, dark brown hair, circular glasses, and a very large, distinctive nose.

_Shit I didn’t even realize he was there._

"What? No, I'm fine." Stan's voice broke mid-sentence. The man didn't buy it.

"Do ya need some help with yer car?" 

_Damn, he has one hell of a southern accent._

"Depends. Are you offering the help for free?" The man chuckled.

"'Course I am."

"Then, yes." The man nodded and called over to a woman Stan just noticed.

"Goin' to help this young man with his car." The woman nodded and exited their pickup truck. She headed toward Stan. The man lifted the hood of the Stanleymobile. "Let's see what we got."

"Do ya need anythin', dear? Anyone we can call?" the woman asked as she approached. Her eyes were just as kind as her husband's, but were a bright sky blue. She had wavy caramel-colored hair, round reading glasses, and a short button nose.

"No."

"Parents?"

"No."

"Family? Friends?"

"I already said no. There's no one to call." She pursed her lips.

"How old are ya, son?"

"Seventeen." Her eyes widened. But she didn't look like she was pitying him, which Stan appreciated. She looked worried.

"What's your name?"

"Stanley. Stanley Pines." She nodded. 

"Well, Stanley Pines, would ya mind a warm meal tonight?" Stan's stomach rumbled.

"I wouldn't mind a free meal." She smiled indulgently.

"Mearl, we're treatin' this young man to dinner tonight."

"Sounds good, Sally." The man, Mearl, closed the hood of the Stanleymobile. "She should run fine for now." He wiped his hands on his pants. "Son, is there anywhere in particular you were goin'?"

"No." 

“Are ya sure? We can give ya a lift. Save ya some gas.”

“I wasn’t headed anywhere.”

“That’s awful strange. Do ya want us to drop ya off at home? Where do ya live?"

"Look, I appreciate that you helped me, and that you're buying me dinner, but I don't need to answer all these questions!" he snapped. 

_Shit, I just cost myself the first warm meal in weeks._ The husband and wife exchanged looks. Mearl beckoned Sally off to the side. They had a hushed discussion. _Damn, I really fucked up. They'll probably call the cops or child service or something._ Sally and Mearl broke off their conversation and returned to Stan.

"Do ya have a job?" Sally asked.

"Uh, no."

"We're lookin' fer a new farmhand. We're gettin' on in years, and our kids are gone most of the time. They can't help out as much as they used to."

"What are you saying?"

"I'm sayin' that if ya want a job, a nice bed, and three square meals a day, we can give that to ya."

_This sounds fishy._

"What's the catch?"

"Only that ya work hard." 

_This still seems kinda suspicious._ Stan looked at his car. The seats were all right, but he hated waking up with a crick in his neck every morning. And he couldn’t run the car all night, wasting gas, so he had to sleep in either the cold or the heat. _I can't even remember what it feels like to sleep in an actual bed. Inside a house with air conditioning and heating._

"... Okay." Sally and Mearl beamed. 

_What have I gotten myself into?_

"Sally, would ya mind callin' home and lettin' 'em know about our new employee?" Sally nodded and headed toward the nearest payphone.

"So, uh, where do you live?" Stan asked, already regretting his decision.

"Gumption, Arkansas." 

"Arkansas!?"

"Yep. Plenty far from anyone who ya might not want to see."

_This guy's perceptive._

"I think I might like that," he said, thinking about a certain polydactyl with the same name as him. "There are some people I wouldn't mind not seeing."

 

Sally put in three quarters and dialed home. The phone was picked up on the second ring.

"McGucket residence, Fiddleford speakin'."


	2. In the Company of Strangers

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> When I left my home and family/I was no more than a boy/ **In the company of strangers** – Simon  & Garfunkel, “The Boxer”

Stan woke up when the truck stopped moving. 

_Shit, I feel asleep!_ He checked and yes, the Stanleymobile was still being pulled. He patted down his pockets. _Still got the key, too._ The truck's side door opened. 

"Son? We're here." Stan nodded, rubbing his face. 

_What the hell was I thinking? Why did I agree to this?_

"Ya comin'?" Mr. McGucket asked. Stan nodded again, swallowed, and, clutching his lone duffel bag to his chest, stepped outside. 

They had pulled up to a white farmhouse, which clearly had more rooms now than when it was first built. A barn was nearby, as was some pasture. An orchard stretched out beyond the house, and along its sides was the biggest vegetable garden he had ever seen. 

Stan barely had time to register this before he heard a bark and was tackled to the ground by something large, furry, and slobbery. A screen door slammed open and shut.

"Joel!" a southern voice shouted. "Get off him! Joel, heel!" The dog was dragged off. Stan looked at the person who had rescued him. He was the spitting image of Mr. McGucket, but minus the glasses. He seemed to be about Stan's age. "Sorry 'bout that." Stan mumbled something even he couldn't make out. Joel, a big chocolate lab, sat down and thumped his tail on the ground excitedly. The door to the house opened and closed twice, as two more people exited.

"Only the youngest three are here right now," Mrs. McGucket said while her husband helped Stan to his feet. The three McGucket children stood in line, as if being put in a specific order.

"You must be Stan," the tallest said. He had dirty blond hair and blue eyes that were hiding behind reading glasses. Stan nodded, holding his duffel bag even tighter.

_This was a bad idea._

"This here is Fiddleford," Mrs. McGucket said. The tallest nodded his head. "He just finished up his first year at college. He's home for the summer."

"I also answer to Fidds."

"Fidds. Right. Got it," Stan muttered. 

"Next is Lute." The carbon copy of Mr. McGucket grinned, still patting the dog's head. "He graduated from high school last week."

"Howdy."

"And finally, Banjolina." The shortest, and only girl, smiled at Stan. If she didn't have her father's nose, she would have looked exactly like her mother. Like Lute, she didn't wear glasses. "She'll be a senior in high school this fall."

"Please, call me Angie. Ev'rybody does." 

"Fidds, Luke, and Angie."

"Lute. With a 'T'."

"Oh." 

_What the hell kinda names do these people have?_

"Did y'all clear out a room?" Mr. McGucket asked.

"All we had time to get ready was the guest room," Lute replied. "But Harper said we could use his."

"Sounds perfect. Fidds, why don't ya show our new farmhand where he'll be stayin'." Mr. McGucket clapped a hand on Stan's shoulder. "If ya give me the key to yer car, I'll park it fer ya."

"No," Stan said shortly. Mr. McGucket raised an eyebrow at the abruptness of his response, but said nothing. 

"If ya follow me, I'll show ya yer room," Fiddleford said. Stan took a deep breath and nodded. Fiddleford's parents and younger siblings watched them enter the house. Once they stepped inside, Fiddleford stopped and pointed to a basket next to the door. “Put yer shoes in there, please.”

“Uh, what?”

“Shoes aren’t allowed inside the house.”

“Really?”

“This is a farm. Who knows what’s on yer shoes. Don’t want to track cow pies all over the carpet. Again.”

“Um, okay.”

_Weird._ Stan slid off his beat-up sneakers and followed Fiddleford deeper into the house. It was a stereotypical farm house, somewhat cramped and cluttered, but still well-organized. Potted plants were shoved in corners and on top of all kinds of surfaces. There was a large number of photos scattered around, of various members of the McGucket family, the farm, or the animals. Books were in random locations throughout the house. 

_What, is everyone here a nerd or something?_

Overall, from the tan carpet to the white and blue walls, it gave off a feeling of being lived in, of being a home. Stan stopped in front of a large family photo, proudly displayed on the wall in the living room.

“So, you’ve got, what, five siblings?”

“Yep.” Fiddleford looked at the picture with affection. “Three brothers, two sisters.” All the McGuckets were beaming at the camera, wearing matching sweaters. It looked a couple years old; Fiddleford, Lute, and Angie seemed younger than they were now.

_Imagine loving your parents that much. He looks like he’d do anything for his family._

“Uh, what are their names?” Fiddleford pointed to a woman with long bright red hair.

“That’s Violynn. She’s the oldest.” He pointed next at a man with caramel-colored hair tied back in a ponytail. “Harper, next oldest.” His finger slid over, stopping at the tallest person in the picture, a man with dark hair and a full beard, as well as the only McGucket sibling to not have inherited their father’s nose. “Then there’s Sebasstian. He goes by Basstian. Then it’s me, then Lute, then Angie.” The youngest two were the only members of the McGucket family that didn’t seem to wear glasses.

“You guys have some weird names.” Fiddleford shrugged with a smile.

“Most of us like ‘em. Couple of us aren’t fans of havin’ such strange, kinda unwieldly names. That’s what nicknames were invented for, I s’pose.”

“Heh. Right.”

_He seems like an okay guy._

“’Course, it’s all Pa’s fault. It’s his family that has the weird name tradition. Ya know, he goes by Mearl, but his full name is Dulcimearl.”

“That doesn’t even make sense.” Fiddleford chuckled.

“If ya spend enough time here, ya might find that it does. Anyways, I’ve still got to show ya yer room. This way.” Fiddleford led him down a hallway, past a handful of rooms with various signs on them, indicating which person lived in there. 

_Everyone gets their own room? Wow._ Fiddleford stopped in front of a room with the name “Harper” on it. He opened the door so Stan could peek in. 

“This is where you’ll be stayin’ once we clear it out. For now you’ll be in one of the guest rooms.”

“Pretty high-tech,” Stan said, looking around the room. In addition to the technological devices placed haphazardly around the room, paper was scattered across the floor. A couple of instruments leaned up against a wall, next to a bookshelf crammed with so many books, it was starting to sag. There was a large tank in the corner with a mean-looking bullfrog sitting on a rock. A handmade paper sign taped to the tank read “Scout”.

“Yep, Harper does special effects fer movies. He’s still finishin’ up schoolin’, but he’s already landed a job with some big comp’ny.” Stan’s heart began to sink. 

“So, are you guys, like, geniuses or something?” Fiddleford scoffed.

“No.” Stan nodded, slightly assuaged.

“Good.” Fiddleford closed the door. 

“Let’s keep movin’.” They walked past a door labeled “Fiddleford” and one labeled “Lute”, before finally coming to one with a sign on it reading “Guest”. Fiddleford opened the door. “Here ya go. It’s not much, but it’s a place to rest yer head for a lil while.”

“Holy shit.” Fiddleford clucked his tongue disapprovingly at the swear, but didn’t say anything. “Sorry, it’s just, that’s a big bed.” It was a queen size, and it looked thirty thousand times more inviting than the stained seats of the Stanleymobile.

_Damn, they really meant it. They want me here. They’re willing to take care of me. Holy shit._

“Have ya never had yer own bed before?”

“I had a bunk bed for most of my life. Never had a queen bed before. Or my own room.”

“Well, this’ll be yer bed for the time bein’. After mornin’ chores are done tomorrow, Lute and Angie promised to clear out Harper’s room. As long as those two can keep their heads on straight and concentrate fer once.” He shook his head. “I swear, those young’uns get distracted by just about everythin’.” He gestured for Stan to enter the room. “We’ll give ya some time to settle in. Someone’ll come get ya for dinner.”

“Okay.” Fiddleford closed the door gently. Stan heard him walk away. He flopped down on the bed. It was soft and inviting. “Good God, that’s fucking amazing.” He sat up, still on the bed, and took in the room. It had sparse furnishing, like most guest rooms, with a picture of a horse across from the bed and a few potted plants dotted here and there. There was even a dresser and a small bookshelf. The books seemed to be primarily classical literature, with a few romance and mystery novels. On the nightstand next to the bed, there was an empty picture frame. Stan zipped open his duffel bag and rummaged around, taking out the picture of his and Stanford’s boxing lessons. He slid it carefully into the frame. 

_So far, this seems like an all right place. I guess._ He stood up and opened the window curtains. He had a view of the barn, which he could now see had a chicken coop outside it. Lute and Angie ran into view, chasing Joel, who was in turn chasing a cat. He could faintly hear them calling for Joel to stop. Both were barefoot. _Man, if they step in cow shit in bare feet, what’s the point in not wearing shoes inside the house?_ He closed the curtains and sat down on the bed again. _Damn, this is a nice, comfortable bed._ He yawned. _Actual bed, pillows, and blankets are even better than I remember._ He laid down and fell asleep the moment his head hit the pillow.

 

“Stanley?” Stan was woken up by soft knocking on the door. He scrambled to a sitting position, and, catching sight of the picture frame, slammed it face down on the nightstand.

“Uh, yeah, come in,” he said, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. The door opened slowly, and Angie peered around it.

“Dinner’s ready,” she said. 

“Right.”

“Are ya hungry?”

“Starving.” Angie beamed.

“Good. ‘Cause we pulled out all the stops. Got all sorts of family recipes.” Stan stood up and exited the room to stand next to her in the hallway. “And ya haven’t had milk until you’ve had farm fresh milk.”

“Sounds fucking amazing.” She giggled. “What?”

“Nothin’, it’s just, well, my fam’ly don’t swear at all, really. So it’s funny when other folks do.”

“Nice to know that I’m entertaining.” 

_Damn, she’s small._ Angie was almost a full foot shorter than him. She walked off, her petite feet moving quickly.

“Come on, I’m hungry, too. But we still have to say grace and everythin’.”

“Grace?” She stopped abruptly to stare at him.

“Ya don’t know what grace is? What do ya say before ya eat?”

“Uh, nothing, really.”

“Well, grace is when ya thank the food and ask for it to be blessed.”

“‘Thank the food’?”

“Just come on, I s’pose. You’ll see.” She led him to the kitchen. The checkered tile was slightly worn, but the window curtains and other décor brightened up the room. Mr. and Mrs. McGucket were sitting at a table with their youngest sons. Stan’s mouth began to water at the sight of the food. He could practically hear the table groaning under the weight. Angie gave her father a quick peck on the cheek and slid into a chair next to him. Stan took a spot in between Angie and Fiddleford. 

“On this day, we thank the Lord for this bread,” Mr. McGucket began. Stan looked around, confused. All the McGuckets had their heads bowed and their hands clasped. “Thank you for this bounty, and bless this meal, that we may continue to provide for our children, and their children in turn. Amen.”

“Amen,” the rest of the McGuckets intoned solemnly. They raised their heads and opened their eyes.

“Stan, ya look confused,” Mrs. McGucket said. “Does yer family say grace differently than ours?”

“Uh…”

“Stan said he’s never said grace,” Angie blurted out. Her family looked at Stan, bewildered.

“You’ve never said grace?” Lute asked.

“No.”

“Have ya ever been to mass?” Fiddleford asked.

“No.”

“Well, ev’ryone in this house is required to go to mass,” Mrs. McGucket said, picking up a roll and buttering it. “Even farmhands.”

“I’ve never even been inside a church,” Stan muttered. Mr. McGucket frowned.

“Really? Why not?”

“Well, I’m Jewish, for starters.” Mrs. McGucket almost dropped her roll. The McGuckets stared at Stan.

_Shit. Did I break them? What’s going on?_

“You’re Jewish?” Angie asked, stunned.

“Yes?”

“Don’t worry, son, we’re not judgin’ ya,” Mr. McGucket said. “It’s just, well, most folks ‘round here are Christian.”

“Oh, that’s no big deal. It’s fine. I don’t really care.”

_I just wanna change the topic._

“I don’t think there’re any Jewish churches nearby,” Mrs. McGucket said.

“Synagogue, Ma. A Jewish church is called a synagogue,” Lute supplied.

“We don’t have one of those, either.” Stan shrugged, very uncomfortable with the situation.

“I don’t really practice that much anyways, so.”

“Whether ya practice or not, I don’t s’pose it’d be right to make ya go to mass,” Mr. McGucket said. Angie and Lute opened their mouths. “The rest of y’all still need to.” Angie and Lute closed their mouths, clearly disappointed. 

The rest of dinner passed by. Stan learned quickly to not just reach over and grab whatever he wanted. He had to ask whoever was closest if they would hand it to him. He chose to avoid joining most of the conversations, instead observing, learning how this family talked and behaved. 

_Why are they all so damn polite? It’s kinda weird,_ he found himself wondering. 

“So, tell us about yourself, Stanley,” Mr. McGucket said abruptly. 

“Uh, like what?” 

“What’s yer favorite color?”

“Favorite subject in school?”

“Birthday?”

“What music do ya like?”

“Can ya play an instrument?” Stan blinked, overwhelmed by the barrage of questions being thrown his way by the McGucket siblings. 

“Behave,” Mrs. McGucket said sternly. “One at a time. Y’all know that.”

“Sorry, Ma,” Fiddleford, Lute, and Angie said together. They turned their attention back to Stan. 

“When’s yer birthday?” Fiddleford asked.

“June 18.”

“How old will ya be when it rolls around this year?”

“18.”

“Like me! I turn 18 in July,” Lute said. “Can ya play an instrument?”

_Aren’t they all named after instruments? Figures that they’d ask that question._

“I was in band in high school. I played the flute. Mostly as an excuse to, uh, try to pick up girls.” He mumbled his reason for joining band. The McGuckets didn’t seem the kind of people who would like that.

“A band instrument? That’s amazin’!” 

“Really?”

“Yes!” Angie cleared her throat. Stan turned to look at her. She was looking intently at him. Her long hair threatened to get caught in the food still on her plate.

“What’s yer fam’ly like?” she asked. Stan’s mouth went dry. His gaze dropped to the table. 

“Banjolina Quinn McGucket, I told ya not to bring up that topic!” Mr. McGucket hissed at his daughter.

“Sorry Pa, I just-”

“Go to yer room.” Angie sighed and stood up, then left. “Sorry ‘bout that, Stanley.” Stan pushed his plate away, his appetite gone. 

“No, it’s- it’s fine. It’s…whatever.” He stood up and began to go to the guest room.

_This was a shitty idea from the start. I shouldn’t have come here. Why the hell did I do this? I’m an idiot. And now I’m an idiot thousands of miles from home._

“Stanley.” Mr. McGucket caught him right before he entered his room. “I really am sorry. I told all three of ‘em to be careful what they said. Angie just, well, she don’t always do what she’s supposed to.”

“No, it’s fine. I just…this was a bad idea. I should get going.”

“Stanley, please.” Stan refused to make eye contact. Mr. McGucket sighed. “Stanley, ya can leave whenever ya want. We won’t judge yer decision. But please, if ya really want to go, do it in the mornin’. Sally and I would feel a whole pond’s worth better if ya spent at least one night in a bed, under a roof.”

_"A whole pond’s worth"? What the fuck does that even mean?_

“I’m not sure, I-”

“If yer not sure, then don’t make yer choice yet. Sleep on it. And tomorrow, we’ll give ya some money and food and send ya on yer way. If that’s what ya decide to do.”

_That bed_ was _pretty damn comfortable. And free food and cash in the morning?_

“…All right,” he replied finally, looking at Mr. McGucket. Mr. McGucket beamed and clapped Stan on the shoulder. 

“You sleep well tonight, ‘kay, son?” Stan smiled slightly in spite of himself. 

“Okay.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, thank you everyone for the positive reception! I was a bit nervous about posting this fanfiction, but hearing how much people like it makes me feel more confident in it. I'm excited to share the McGucket family that myself and a friend have come up with (due to lack of canon). Let me know what you think!  
> As always, if you have questions, leave a comment here or message me at thelastspeecher.tumblr.com.


	3. Left Yesterday Behind

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Coming home to a place he’d never been before/He **left yesterday behind** him, you might say he was born again – John Denver, “Rocky Mountain High”

“Sweet sarsaparilla, Scout, get back here!” Thundering footsteps ran past the closed door to the guest bedroom. Stan groaned and covered his head with a pillow. It didn’t do much to muffle the noise of what sounded like elephants on parade. 

_Looks like I might as well stay up now._ He sat up, rubbing his eyes. He looked at the clock on the bedside table. _10:00? Wow. Haven’t slept that long for a while._

“Do ya have to be so dang loud?”

“Yes! He’s tryin’ to scrabdoodle away!”

_That’s the girl…Angie, right?_ The memories of yesterday flooded Stan’s mind. In the light of day, having just slept for more than twelve hours, the idea of leaving seemed less attractive. _I suppose I could give it another shot. I mean, I can respect someone not wanting to follow instructions._ He stretched and got up. He looked at the mess of blankets on the bed. _They better not expect me to make the bed. There’s no way in hell I’d do that._ He walked over to the door and opened it. A frog hopped in. Stan stared at the amphibian on the floor.

“What the fuck?” 

“Scout!” Stan looked up. Angie had suddenly appeared, slightly disheveled. She was clearly the one that had been running around so loudly. “Stanley, ya found him. Thank goodness. Harper woulda killed me if I lost his pet.” She scooped the irritable bullfrog off the floor, eliciting a dissatisfied croak.

“Your brother has a pet frog?”

“Yeah. Named Scout.”

“Never would’ve guessed. I mean, it’s not like you were shouting its name loud enough to wake the dead.” Angie looked down.

“Sorry ‘bout that. I got excited. And Scout is a slippery little feller.” Scout croaked again. Angie shuffled her feet. “And, um, I’m sorry ‘bout last night. I shoulda known better. I, uh, I haven’t met many new people in a while. I know most folks don’t have a fam’ly like mine, and I just want to learn about how other fam’lies work. I got excited ‘bout hearing what a New Jersey fam’ly’s like.”

“I’m sensing that you getting excited happens a lot.” Angie shrugged and leaned against the doorframe.

“Ma says it’s a blessin’. My teachers disagree.” 

“Your teachers?”

“Yeah, they- oh! I almost plum near forgot. Pa said that when ya wake up, yer supposed to go meet Fidds in the barn. Well, if ya decided to stay, that is.” 

“Why does he want me to meet Fiddleford in the barn?” Stan asked, opting to avoid outright saying that he was going to stay.

_I know they said I could leave whenever I want, but I don’t want to make the commitment to stay. Not yet._ Angie smiled, noticing that he didn’t say he was leaving.

“So’s he can show ya ‘round the place.”

“Why can’t your dad show me around?”

“It’s farmer’s market day. Ma and Pa ‘re in Little Rock. We’re on our own.”

“Like, for meals and everything, too?” Angie waved her hand, almost dropping Scout in the process.

“Please. We got plenty of leftovers, and even if we didn’t, we all know how to cook.” Stan’s stomach rumbled audibly. “I’d take ya to the kitchen, but there’s a ‘no animals allowed’ rule there.”

“I think I remember the way.”

“Then ya can just help yourself to whatever ya want.”

“Angie! Ya stopped runnin’ ‘round. Did ya catch Scout?”

“Yeah, Lute!” Angie called back. Lute appeared in the doorway, next to his sister. 

“Oh, yer up!” he said cheerfully. “Do ya want to come see what we’ve been doin’ with yer new room?”

“He’s goin’ to eat some food first, I think,” Angie replied, stroking Scout gently. 

“No, I’m down for seeing what you guys have got done,” Stan said. 

_Anything to avoid going to the barn. What made me think I could be a_ farmhand, _of all things?_ Lute gestured for Stan to follow him. Angie stayed back while they left, saying something about putting Scout away. The door to Harper’s room was being kept open by a pile of very thick books. The sign reading “Harper” had been taken off already.

“Wow. You guys got all this done this morning?” Stan asked, impressed. The room had been completely cleaned and reorganized, and most of the more personal furniture had been removed. All that was left was the bed and the dresser.

“Yup. Us McGuckets work fast.”

“Apparently.” 

“We’ll be movin’ a few things in for ya, like a mirror and a bookshelf.”

“Bookshelf? No need.” Lute frowned.

“If ya say so. We’ll still move it in, though, just in case.” Stan grunted. “Oh, and Ma and Pa were wonderin’ what sort of things ya like.”

“You’re gonna have to be more specific.”

“Like, colors. Bands. Things that could be used to decorate a room. They’re in Little Rock today, and there’re some more options there than here in Gumption.”

“Oh, uh, this is fine.”

“Are ya sure?”

“Yeah.” Lute nodded uncertainly. “But uh, quick question. The picture frame from the guest room? Can I keep it?”

“‘Course! And ya can move yer stuff into this room after Fidds has shown ya ‘round. It should be ready by then, anyways.” Stan’s stomach rumbled again. Lute raised an eyebrow. “But ya should probably get some breakfast. I can show ya what we’ve got in the fridge.” 

 

“Fiddleford?” Stan said, walking into the barn. A chicken ran past him. 

_A farm. I’m on a fucking farm. The only pet I’ve ever had was that goldfish I won. Didn’t I name it Whiskers? I was a smartass kid._

“Come on in, Stanley,” Fiddleford said, emerging from one of the stalls. The horse in the stall eyed Stan.

“I’m not sure if I want to.” Fiddleford looked at the horse and then back at Stan.

“What, are ya afraid of sweet lil Tuesday, here? He’s the gentlest gelding we’ve ever had.”

“I don’t know what a gelding is, and I don’t care how gentle he is. He looks shifty.” Fiddleford laughed and patted Tuesday’s neck.

“A gelding’s a neutered stallion.”

“Oh.”

“I take it yer not a horse person?”

“I grew up in a city in New Jersey. I’ve seen horses maybe twice in my entire life.”

“Well, if yer goin’ to be a farmhand here, you’ve got to get used to ‘em. We’ve got five.”

“ _Five_?”

“Yup. Follow me, I’ll point ‘em out.” Stan walked over to Fiddleford, giving Tuesday’s stall a wide berth. Fiddleford noticed this and rolled his eyes. He began to walk. Stan followed. “Right there is Daisy, she’s Angie’s. Our only palomino. Angie uses her in shows sometimes.” Stan nodded. 

_What’s a palomino?_

“Right here we’ve got Jesse. He’s a chestnut, like Tuesday, and our only stallion. He’s mine. ‘Course, he’s gettin’ older, so we’ll have to put him out to pasture soon and stop usin’ him for stud.”

_I understood most of those words separately._

“Next to Jesse is Carla, with her foal, Cinnamon, who’s a bay like her. Carla’s got the best temper’ment, so sometimes we bring her to fairs and let folks ride her.”

“Do you charge people?” Fiddleford shrugged.

“Sometimes. Depends on the circumstances.”

_Why wouldn’t you_ always _charge people? Don’t horses cost a lot of money to take care of?_

“Who does Tuesday belong to?”

“Lute.”

“So, do all of you have your own horse, then?”

“Yup. Basstian told us we could keep Carla when he moved out. Harper and Violynn took theirs with ‘em.” He made a clicking sound with his tongue. Carla moved toward the front of the stall. He stroked her gently. “Angie and Violynn are the oldest and youngest, so they got new horses bought for ‘em. The rest of us got horses that were bred here on the farm.”

_They have a horse named Carla. I can’t decide whether that’s a sign that I should stay or leave._ He felt something furry brush up against his ankles. He looked down. An orange tabby was rubbing his legs. _This looks different than the cat I saw Joel chasing yesterday._

“That there’s Salmon,” Fiddleford said. He stopped stroking Carla and crouched, beckoning the cat closer. “Tuna should be ‘round here somewhere. Hey, Tuna!” With a meow, something grey and furry dropped from the top of the stall. “There ya are.” 

“Your cats are named Tuna and Salmon?”

“Harper named ‘em.” Fiddleford picked up Salmon and stood. “We keep cats ‘round here so’s the mice don’t get too bad. Want to hold one of ‘em?”

“No thanks.” Fiddleford set Salmon back on the ground.

“All right, suit yourself. I’ll show ya the pasture and the orchard.” They exited the barn. Tuna followed them, while Salmon ran off in the opposite direction. Fiddleford climbed onto the fence surrounding the pasture. “Bessie! Get over here, girl!” he called. With a moo, a cow walked over to him. “That’s a good girl.”

“Are all your cows named Bessie?” Stan asked. 

“Nope. We’ve got Bessie, Buttercup, Bertha, Bob, Billy, Bethany, and Bella.”

“I think I see the pattern,” Stan said, approaching the fence and staring at Bessie. 

_Don’t all cows look exactly the same? How can they tell them apart?_

“Ma named the first heifer we ever got ‘Bluebell’. She named the steer they got with her ‘Brandon’. Since then, we give the cows names beginnin’ with ‘B’.” Stan wasn’t sure what to say.

“Huh.”

“As a farmhand, you’ll have to learn how to milk the cows, take care of ‘em, and keep track of ‘em. There’s not many of ‘em, and we don’t have a lot of pasture, but they can move awful fast. We’ll be helpin’ ya out a lot at the start, but eventually we’ll let ya succeed or fail on yer own.”

“Okay?”

 _Well, it’s not like I haven’t had to deal with “sink or swim” before._ Fiddleford smirked. 

“Nah, I’m just foolin’. We’ll be helpin’ ya out as much as possible. But Lute and I will be headin’ off to school in a few months, so you’ll only really have Angie and Pa to help ya out if ya still need help then. It’s better if ya learn how to do it while there’s still more of us ‘round.”

“…Makes sense.” Fiddleford hopped off the fence.

“You’ll also have to learn how to take care of the horses.” Stan winced. “Don’t be like that. We only ever have well-behaved ones. Angie’s a natural with ‘em. She’ll be the one what helps ya learn how to take care of ‘em.” 

_Really don’t wanna be near those living death machines._

“You said something about an orchard?” he asked, steering the conversation away from the horses. 

“Oh, yeah. We’ve got an apple orchard. It’s this way.” He headed off. Stan walked behind him. Tuna meowed, still following them. Fiddleford clicked his tongue, making Tuna speed up to be right alongside him. They stopped at the orchard. Stan stared at the apple trees.

_These look like the kind I climbed when I was a kid._

“Most all of us kids climbed these trees when we were younger,” Fiddleford said, as though reading his mind. “Ya can still find Angie and Lute up in the branches sometimes. We make our own apple juice and apple cider from these here trees.”

“Sounds good.”

“It is.” Fiddleford smiled at the orchard. “Ma and Pa said that you’ll mostly be in charge of the animals and the pasture, but come harvest time, you’ll be helpin’ pick the apples and whatever we grow in our garden. And you’ll end up takin’ some of the stuff to market with us, too.”

“When are you leaving to go back to school?”

_How long will you be able to help me out with all of this?_

“Early August, I’ll be headin’ to Backupsmore.”

“Backupsmore?”

_Why does that name sound familiar to me?_ Fiddleford shrugged.

“It ain’t the best school in the world, but it’s only one state over and they offered me a full ride.”

“…Oh.”

“Fidds, Stanley!” someone called from the house. “Lunch is ready!”

_I literally_ just _had breakfast._ After a moment, he shrugged. _Eh, I could go for more food._

“On our way!” Fiddleford replied. The two of them walked back to the house, passing the chicken coop. Fiddleford groaned. “I can’t believe I forgot ‘bout the chickens.” He stopped momentarily, then continued walking. “We don’t need to spend much time with ‘em. Lute’ll show ya how to take care of ‘em tomorrow. But they’re pretty easy to handle.”

_Nice to know that at least one of these things is going to be a breeze._ When they got to the front porch, Lute was standing by the door, grinning. _Now_ that’s _a shit-eating look if I’ve ever seen one._

“Come on in!” Lute said, opening the door. His older brother looked at him suspiciously. “What?”

“I only ever see ya smile like that when yer up to no good.” Lute scoffed.

“Angie’s the one what messes with folks.”

“Do ya _want_ me to burn yer grilled cheese?” Angie shouted from the kitchen.

“Go ahead! I can make my own.”

“Suit yourself, crow’s feet.”

“Hey! I’m only two years older than ya!” 

“Are ya goin’ to bicker all day or let us in?” Fiddleford asked, somewhat impatiently.

“Sorry.” Lute let go of the door. Stan instinctively caught it. Lute grinned again. “You’ve got some good reflexes there, Stanley.”

“It’s Stan.” 

_Shit._ It had just slipped out. Lute tilted his head, confused.

“Ya have a nickname?” he asked. Stan nodded, once again uncomfortable with the situation he had found himself in. “Well, why didn’t ya say so? Three of us kids use nicknames, and so does Pa. We’re well used to it.” 

_No fucking shit they use nicknames. Their full names are weird as hell._

“Are you goin’ to come in?” Lute asked teasingly. 

“Oh, right.” Stan entered the house and was on his way to the kitchen when both Lute and Fiddleford cleared their throats at the exact same time. He turned. The brothers pointed at the shoe basket beside the door. 

_Damn._ Stan slid off his sneakers and put them in the basket, then made his way to the kitchen with Fiddleford and Lute. Angie was standing by the stove, a loaf of bread, some cheese, and some butter next to her. She hummed as she flipped a grilled cheese. She looked up when her brothers and Stan entered.

“Howdy,” she said cheerfully. 

“Hey,” Stan said.

“Do ya like grilled cheese, Stanley?”

“He goes by Stan,” Lute put in. Angie quirked an eyebrow, but didn’t offer a comment.

“Do ya like grilled cheese, Stan?”

“Yeah.” She smiled. 

“Good.” She gestured toward the table. A plate was already waiting at the chair Stan had sat in the day before. “I wasn’t sure if ya knew how to make yourself lunch. So I figured I’d make ya somethin’ when I made myself somethin’.”

“Thanks.” He headed over to the table and sat down. 

“No problem.” Lute walked next to her and put his elbow on her shoulder.

“So, best little sister in the world, how do ya feel ‘bout makin’ me some lunch?”

“Ya just said ya could make yer own!” she replied, poking him. Fiddleford walked to her other side and put his elbow on her head.

“What about me? Do I get an Angie-made grilled cheese?” 

“I’ve told ya a million times. No puttin’ yer elbow on my head! I get it! Yer tall and I’m short.”

“So, no grilled cheese?”

“No.” 

“If I tickle ya, will ya make me some food?” Lute asked.

“I might punch ya.”

“Wouldn’t hurt that much.” Angie shoved her brothers away.

“I’m cookin’! Leave me be!” Stan smiled at the good-natured false bickering. 

_It’s sorta like my relationship with Shermie. God, I haven’t heard from Shermie in ages. He left home the second he could and didn’t look back. Wish I had the balls to do that._ Lute fake-grumbled and opened the fridge, while Fiddleford looked in a cabinet for something to eat. 

“Do ya want somethin’ to drink?” Lute asked Stan. “I’m at the fridge, anyway.”

“I’m fine.”

“Are ya sure? We got water, milk, homebrewed sweet tea, apple juice, apple cider; does any of that tickle yer fancy?”

“Is there a difference between apple juice and apple cider?” Angie and Lute laughed. His lunch made, Fiddleford headed to the table, poking his younger siblings on the way.

“He’s from the city, ‘member? Be nice.” He took a seat across from Stan. “There is a difference. Apple cider hasn’t been filtered. Apple juice has. Both are pretty good. I prefer cider, so does Angie.”

“Not me,” Lute said, pulling two jugs out of the fridge. He set them on the counter and grabbed two drinking glasses from a cabinet. “I’ll get ya some of both. That way you can decide which one ya like best.”

“I don’t really…” Stan said awkwardly. 

_Wait. They’re offering me free food. Why am I trying to turn it down?_ He stopped protesting. Lute poured Stan a glass of each and handed them over. 

“The cloudy one’s the cider,” Fiddleford said. “Mind pourin’ me some, Lute?”

“Get yer own!” Fiddleford groaned and stood up. Stan smiled. 

“You guys seem a lot less polite when your parents aren’t around,” he said idly, eyeing the cloudy glass suspiciously. Angie laughed.

“Yesterday we were on our best behavior. Ma and Pa insisted. But if they ain’t ‘round, they can’t stop us from acting how we norm’ly do.”

“We’re not stuffed shirts,” Lute said, taking a seat at one end of the table. “Even ‘round Ma and Pa. We just pretended to be. Didn’t want to ruffle yer feathers.” He looked over at Angie. “But _someone_ didn’t listen.” Angie grabbed a dishtowel off the counter next to her and threw it at Lute.

“Watch yourself, Lute Everett.” Lute deftly caught the dishtowel. Angie rolled her eyes. “Bein’ the sporty one,” she mumbled, flipping her grilled cheese over. She hummed softly. 

“You like sports?” Stan asked eagerly. 

“I like some of ‘em. I’m the only one that ended up bein’ any good at ‘em, after all.” Angie opened her mouth. “‘Sides ridin’ horses.” She closed her mouth and resumed humming. “Do you like sports?”

“I, uh, I’ve done boxing since grade school.” Lute’s eyes widened.

“Really? That’s fascinatin’!”

“How?”

“I’ve never met a boxer before. I’m a runner, mostly. I also swim some.”

“He’s got an athletic scholarship to the University of Missouri,” Fiddleford put in, sitting at the table again. “The only one of us what got one. The rest of us got academic scholarships.”

“That’s…impressive,” Stan said after a minute. 

_Fiddleford lied. They’re geniuses, aren’t they?_ Angie finally finished cooking her grilled cheese and took a seat at the table.

“I’ve been thinkin’ ‘bout getting’ Scout a friend,” she said. Fiddleford raised an eyebrow.

“Really?”

“Yessir. _Lithobates catesbeianus_ ain’t the only frog ‘round here.” Stan had to consciously stop his jaw from dropping.

_What the fuck? Was that Latin?_

“I’m thinkin’ I want to try findin’ a _Hyla versicolor_ ,” she continued.

“What one’s that?” Lute asked.

“Gray tree frog.”

“Then why didn’t ya just say ‘gray tree frog’?”

“That ain’t scientific.” Lute rolled his eyes. “Oh, please, I have to hear ya blabber on ‘bout the names of all the muscles and how they work all the time.”

“I don’t mind,” Fiddleford said. “It’s like engineerin’, but for human bodies.”

“Humans are borin’,” Angie said snarkily. “Amphibians are better.” 

"Okay, I have to call bullshit," Stan said finally. The McGuckets looked at him, identical expressions of confusion on their faces.

"On what?"

"You guys keep saying you're not geniuses. You are! Fiddleford got a full ride, Angie skipped a grade, and Lute somehow keeps up with you two." 

“What makes ya think I skipped a grade?” Angie asked uncomfortably.

“You’re two years younger than Lute, but you’re only a year behind him in school.” Angie blinked, surprised. She mumbled something, still obviously uncomfortable. Lute gave her a friendly pat on the back and looked straight at Stan.

"Ev'ryone is smart," Lute said.

"I'm not." Fiddleford looked distressed. His younger siblings just looked more confused.

"Why do ya say that?" Fiddleford asked gently.

"I'm just not." Lute shrugged.

"Maybe not in the same way we are. But even I'm smart in a dif'rent way than Angie and Fidds are. Ev'ryone is smart, just in dif'rent ways." 

"'Ev'ryone's a genius. But if ya judge a fish by its ability to climb a tree, it will live its whole life thinkin' it's stupid'," Angie chimed in. Stan raised an eyebrow. "That's a quote from Albert Einstein."

"I've heard of him."

_He's one of Ford's favorites._

"Ya can't judge someone's intelligence against someone else's. Because there are lots of dif'rent ways to be smart." 

"I've heard of book smart and street. Only one of those is real intelligence." Lute scoffed.

"That ain't true. There's bein' smart athletically, bein' smart with survival, bein' smart with numbers, bein' smart with drawin' or paintin' or music, to name a few." He smiled at Stan. "Ya figured out that Angie’s a grade further than she should be just by listening to us talk. That’s clever. Don't let anyone tell ya otherwise. Yer smart." Stan shrugged.

"If you say so."

 _Where do they get off on being so comforting? This is ridiculous._ Some part of him, though, felt a bit more at ease. _Even though they're wrong, it's nice to be told something like that. Dad never said anything half as supportive._ He looked at the McGucket siblings again. They were all smiling at him. Stan smiled hesitantly back. _This seems like an okay place. Maybe being here won't be that bad._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it ended up being so long. Next time I end up with this much written for a chapter, I'll split it into two. I didn't feel like it this time, though. I was concerned it must disrupt the flow of the chapter.  
> Let me know what you think!  
> As always, if you have any questions or comments, leave them here or message me at thelastspeecher.tumblr.com.


	4. Turn Those Hands to Labor

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For a dime a day and a place to stay/She’d **turn those hands to labor** – Townes Van Zandt, “Tecumseh Valley”

Stan woke up to the smell of bacon and the sound of his alarm clock. He slammed his hand down on it with a groan. It was only 7:00 am, but it felt much earlier than that.

_What made me think I could get up at the ass-crack of dawn to do farming?_ He sat up, yawning. _At least it smells like someone made breakfast._ He opened the door, and like every day since he had arrived a week ago, he could hear voices coming from the kitchen. _On the one hand, it’s nice to know that I’m not alone in the house. On the other hand, I’m pretty sure there’s zero privacy._ He shuffled his way to the kitchen, the words of the McGuckets there becoming more audible.

“Chocolate. It’s got to be.” Lute. 

“No way. He’s a marble man.” Fiddleford. 

“Yer both wrong. Red velvet. Hands down.” Angie. 

“What are you guys doing?” Stan asked, amused. The three McGucket siblings looked up guiltily. Fiddleford was sitting at the table, a piece of paper in front of him, while Lute and Angie were crowded around him. Fiddleford covered the piece of paper surreptitiously. 

“Nothin’ much,” Fiddleford replied. 

“We’re just tryin’ to guess what yer favorite kind of cake is,” Angie said brightly. “Ma and Pa wanted us to figure it out.” Stan raised an eyebrow. 

“You know, you could have just asked me.” 

“It’s more fun to guess and place bets,” Lute said. “Yer so mysterious.” Stan laughed. 

“Yeah, I’m a regular Mr. Mystery,” he said, looking around the kitchen for the source of the bacon smell. “But Angie was right. My favorite’s red velvet.” Angie punched the air. 

“Told ya! Now y’all have to take care of the chickens for me today and tomorrow.” Her older brothers groaned. 

“But if it makes you feel any better, Fidds, you were pretty close.” 

“How is marble close to red velvet?” 

_Because it’s my twin brother’s favorite._ Stan shrugged wordlessly. Fiddleford looked at Stan, who was still wondering where the food was. 

“Stan, if ya want breakfast, ya have to make yer own. Ma and Pa decided that now that you’ve been with us for a week, ya have to start doin’ the stuff we do. Chores, makin’ yer own food, things like that.” 

“Making my own food? Well, damn.” 

“Do ya not know how to cook?” Lute asked. 

“Uh, no, not really.” 

“It’s okay, we can help ya out,” Fiddleford said, standing up. “Scrambled eggs should be pretty easy for ya to learn.” 

“Thanks, man.” Stan opened the fridge to grab some eggs. “Why were you guys wondering what my favorite kind of cake is?” he asked, putting the carton on the counter. 

“For yer birthday!” Angie said cheerfully. “Ma makes the best cakes. From scratch!” Stan was suddenly flooded by the memories of his seventeenth birthday. 

_Ma couldn’t get me a red velvet one for whatever reason, so she added red food dye to a vanilla cake. Ford got a chocolate one instead of marble. Dad said that we were old enough to learn how to settle for something less. Ford and I did what we always did and spent all our birthday money on snacks, which we ate while we worked on the Stan O’ War._

_Ford blabbered on about his latest weirdness obsession, I think it was UFOs. I talked about Carla. We were going to have our one-year anniversary. A couple weeks later, she ditched me for that dirty hippie._

“That’s nice of you guys to offer, but I don’t want a cake.” 

“Why not?” 

_Because last year, there were two, and I don’t know how to have a birthday with just one._

“I just don’t feel like it. No cake.” He took a breath. “Please,” he added as an afterthought. 

“Do ya want a birthday celebration at all?” Fiddleford asked. 

_These damn McGuckets. How are they so perceptive?_

“No. Not really.” Angie and Lute looked down at the piece of paper on the table, both clearly disappointed. 

_Shit. I upset them. They take me in, and this is how I repay them? By shooting down their offers to make me happy?_ Stan tried to ignore his dad’s voice in his head, but couldn’t. _Dad woulda killed me over this._

“That’s just fine!” Lute said brightly, shaking away his disappointment. “Low-key birthday. We can do that.” 

“Ya have to have _some_ sort of treat,” Angie said. “How does ice cream sound?” 

“Perfect.” 

“We won’t have many gifts for ya,” Fiddleford said, opening the carton of eggs that Stan had, by now, completely forgotten about. “Just a couple.” 

“That’s a couple more than I was expecting, to be honest.” He turned his attention to his breakfast. “Show me how to make scrambled eggs, will ya?” 

 

“That’s right, ya got it! Good job!” Stan rolled his eyes. 

“I’m just sticking a giant fork in a big thing of dried grass. I don’t think it’s that difficult,” he said, continuing to scatter hay. 

“Well, yer a big guy, which probably helps,” Fiddleford conceded. At the distinctive _clip-clop_ of hooves, both of them looked up. Riding Daisy, Angie had entered the barn. Stan frowned. 

“Aren’t you supposed to have a seat?” he asked her. Angie looked over at him, confused. 

“‘A seat’? What are ya talkin’ ‘bout?” She pulled back gently on the reins, stopping Daisy. In one fluid motion, she dismounted gracefully. 

“He’s talkin’ ‘bout the saddle,” Fiddleford said. 

“Oh, well, if yer ridin’ bareback, ya don’t need a saddle,” she replied, patting Daisy on the neck. 

“I didn’t know that was a thing.” 

“That’s ‘cause yer a city slicker,” Angie said, tying Daisy to a post and walking toward the section of the barn reserved for horse tack. She looked back at Stan and winked. “Don’t worry, we’ll fix that.” She lifted a saddle with minimal difficulty and walked back to Daisy. “Are ya ready fer yer first ridin’ lesson?” she asked Stan as she cinched the girth. 

“I’m gonna be blunt with you. No.” She laughed. 

“I ‘ppreciate yer honesty. But don’t worry, it’ll be fun.” She stroked Daisy’s neck. “Ain’t that right, Daisy?” Her horse nickered softly, eliciting a small smile from Angie. “That’s a good girl.” 

“You sure like horses,” Stan said, dread mounting as Angie led Jesse out of his stall. 

“Yep. I’m a country girl, through and through.” She handed the reins to Stan. 

“What do I do?!” 

“Just stand there for a moment while I get the saddle.” Stan stared at Jesse. 

“Uh, hey man.” Jesse huffed in Stan’s face. “Thanks for that.” Angie arrived with the saddle and began describing the parts of it as she put it on. 

“And right here, ya see what I’m doin’? This is called ‘cinchin’ the girth’. Ya need to make sure it’s nice and tight. Otherwise, this happens.” She tugged gently on the saddle, and it slid off of Jesse’s back, halfway down the torso. “See?” 

“Yeah, I think I’ll sit this one out.” 

“Don’t be silly.” She continued to chatter. “This here’s a Western saddle. We only have one English one, and I use it when I’m doin’ jumps with Daisy.” 

“Um. Okay.” 

“Now, I’m goin’ to show ya how to mount.” 

“Mount?” 

“Get on.” 

“Oh.” 

“Watch carefully.” She walked over to Daisy, who had been saddled and was standing patiently. In the same graceful, singular fluid motion she had used to dismount, she mounted. “Now you try.” 

“No.” She scoffed and slid off her horse. 

“Come on, it ain’t that difficult.” 

“Maybe show me again? A bit slower.” She nodded and did what he asked. 

“But Stan, don’t think of it as a step one, step two type thing. It’s all the same step. Just try, okay? I’ll bet ya get it on the first one.” 

It actually took a couple tries for Stan to successfully mount Jesse. Stan kept getting more flustered. Fidds finally brought over a step stool for Stan to use. He managed to mount Jesse on the first try with the step stool. 

“There ya go!” Fidds said. Angie cheered. 

“Shut up,” Stan muttered, turning red. 

“Ah, come on, Stan. We ain’t teasin’ ya,” Angie said. “We’re pleased that ya got it to work. Yer city folk. It might be a bit of a rough start. But ya did a good job.” 

“…Thanks.” 

“Now that you’ve mounted, give Jesse a nice pat on the neck.” 

“Why?” 

“Ya landed on him a bit heavy, and yer sittin’ a bit like a sack of taters,” Angie said, guiding Daisy to walk up alongside Jesse. 

“Wow, thanks.” 

“Hey, next time, you’ll be so gentle and graceful, and have such good form, Jesse won’t even realize yer on him,” Angie said brightly. Stan leaned forward and patted Jesse on the neck. 

“If you say so.” 

 

Stan’s alarm didn’t wake him up on June 18th. He woke up much later than he was supposed to. 

_I overslept! Shit!_ He got dressed quickly and ran to the kitchen to grab something before he went to take care of the cows. _Mr. McGucket’s probably been out in the pasture for hours._

“Happy birthday!” five voices shouted. Stan blinked. The McGuckets were all standing in front of the table and smiling at him. 

“Uh, thanks?” 

“The kids told us ya didn’t want a big ole thing,” Mr. McGucket said, “but we thought we’d let ya sleep in a bit, make ya some nice breakfast, and ‘course, give ya a couple gifts.” Stan knew he had a dopey look on his face, but he couldn’t help it. 

“Really?” 

“Yep! So if ya want to take a seat, the kids got ya something.” Stan sat at the table, his mouth watering at the sight of all the food. 

_Breakfast food is my favorite kind of food._ Angie took a seat next to him and handed him a large box, grinning. _That’s the same grin Lute had the first day I got here. Were they planning this present that far in advance?_ Stan thought on that for a moment. _I don’t think I’d put it past them to pull something like that._

“Fiddleford wrapped it,” Lute said. “He’s the one what’s best at wrappin’ things. But it’s from him, me, and Angie.” 

“Why am I last?” Angie asked. 

“‘Cause yer the youngest.” Angie huffed. Stan tore off the wrapping with a gusto that made both the McGucket parents chuckle. He opened the box and lifted the item out. 

“A…cowboy hat?” he asked, confused. Angie snickered.

“Yer a southern boy now,” Fiddleford said. “Ya got to dress the part.” Stan laughed and put the hat on. 

“Very fetchin’,” Angie said, still giggling. Stan tipped the hat. 

“Thank ya kindly,” he said. Lute chuckled. 

“Glad ya like it.” 

“Once ya eat, we’ll take ya out to the barn and show ya yer other gift,” Mr. McGucket said. 

 

Stan walked into the barn, being pulled by the ever-energetic Angie and Lute. 

“Come on, it’s an amazin’ gift!” Angie said enthusiastically. 

“I’m coming, I’m coming.” Angie and Lute stopped in front of one of the stalls. 

“Ta-da!” Stan gaped. 

“That’s. That’s a horse.” 

“Yep!” 

“What- you bought me a _horse_?” 

“Well, we traded him,” Mr. McGucket cut in. “Jesse and Cinnamon for this fella.” 

“But why?” 

“We needed a new stallion anyways, and Fidds wasn’t ridin’ Jesse much anymore. And when we took ya to the stables, ya said ya liked Hardtack, here.” 

“Yeah, he was my favorite,” Stan replied. 

“Ya said he was a ‘mean son of a gun’.” 

“Just like me.” Angie scoffed. “Oh, I _am_ mean. Just not to delicate little flowers like you.” Angie slammed her foot down on his toes. “Ow!” 

“Just ‘cause yer the birthday boy don’t mean ya can get away with that,” she said. 

“Angie, stop assualtin’ Stan,” Mrs. McGucket said. She had a twinkle in her eye, however, that indicated she was amused by the casual banter between Stan and her youngest child. 

“You guys really didn’t need to get me an entire horse,” Stan said. “I’m still not the biggest fan of them.” 

“Oh, you’ll learn to like ‘em more when it’s yer own horse that yer ridin’,” Mr. McGucket said with a smile. 

“‘An entire horse’? Did ya only want half of one?” Fiddleford asked teasingly. 

“That’s called a pony,” Lute put in. Angie rolled her eyes. 

“Hardtack’s the first buckskin we’ve ever had,” Mr. McGucket continued, ignoring his children. “Treat him well, Stan. But the folks what owned him said he was stubborn, so yer goin’ to have to be able to handle it.” 

“It’s okay,” Stan said, stepping forward to stroke his horse’s neck. “I can be stubborn right back.” 

 

Stan ground the tail end of his cigarette underneath his heel and considered taking another one from the pack. He had stashed it away so that the McGuckets wouldn’t know. 

_For a birthday without Ford, it went pretty well, I guess. I just…I hate to admit it, but I wish Ford was here. It ain’t a birthday without my twin brother._ He sighed heavily and pulled a second cigarette from the box. _Damn, have I needed a cigarette all day. Being so happy is exhausting. Even if I wasn’t_ completely _faking it._ He fumbled in his pocket for his lighter. _I wish I could tell them. I wish I could tell them that it’s not a real birthday with Ford, that they’ve basically taken on a disaster waiting to happen._ He finally managed to grab his lighter. _But then they’d probably get rid of me._ He brought his lighter to his cigarette. 

“Stan?” Startled, he dropped both his cigarette and his lighter. 

“Shit!” 

“Stan, please watch yer language,” Mrs. McGucket said. She frowned, recognizing what he had just dropped. “Is that a cigarette?” 

“…Yes. I’m sorry, Mrs. McGucket.” She sighed. 

“I ain’t mad. Just disappointed.” 

_The classic mom thing to say._

“If ya must smoke, please don’t do it ‘round the house. It smells and I don’t want Angie or Lute to get the idea that smokin’ is a good thing to do. They’re still impressionable.” 

“Lute’s almost an adult.” 

“Well, at the very least, Angie’s impressionable.” She put her hands on her hips. “And I won’t take away yer cigarettes ‘cause they’re yours and you bought ‘em, but try to avoid usin’ ‘em. Please. They ain’t good fer ya.” 

“Yes, ma’am.” She smiled indulgently. 

“Yer a good kid. Come on inside, we’ve got some ice cream fer ya. Some ‘nana splits made with hand-churned ice cream.” 

“Sounds good.” Stan followed her inside the house. 

 

“USA! USA!” Angie and Lute chanted, both running past with a sparkler in each hand. Stan laughed. 

“Nice to know some things are universal,” he said to Mr. McGucket. “My family celebrated the 4th of July like this.” 

“Grillin’ ‘n fireworks are classic,” Mr. McGucket said with a smile. He flipped over a hamburger. “Angie, Lute, stop runnin’ ‘round like a chicken with its head cut off. Help yer brother out, will ya?” Lute did as he was told, but Angie continued to run. 

“My sparklers are still goin’,” Angie replied, slowing down her speed slightly, but not stopping. Her father sighed. 

“When will that child lose her energy?” he muttered to himself. 

“Judging by her personality, never,” Stan said. “But that ain’t a bad thing.” Mr. McGucket looked over at him, an odd expression on his face. Stan was suddenly attacked by a hug from behind him. “What’s going on?” 

“Ya said ‘ain’t’!” Angie shouted, her voice slightly muffled by the hug she was giving him. “Yer goin’ to be a real southerner ‘fore long.” 

“Not sure how I feel about that.” 

“What’s all this ‘bout?” Mrs. McGucket asked, appearing from inside the house, holding a pitcher of lemonade. “Here, sweetheart, go put this on the table.” Angie sighed and broke off her hug, then took the pitcher over. 

“Stan used the word ‘ain’t’. He’s startin’ to acclimate a bit,” Mr. McGucket said with a wink. Stan shrugged. 

“Even people back in New Jersey used ‘ain’t’ or ‘y’all’ every now and then. But before I came here, I never heard someone say ‘shimsham’ or ‘scrabdoodle’.” 

“Us McGuckets have been livin’ ‘round these parts fer generations,” Mr. McGucket said, continuing to cook food on the grill. “Our family helped found Gumption. We made up our own dialect of sorts. It’s what happens.” 

“Stan, do ya want to light the first firework?” Lute called. 

“Ya better go do that,” Mr. McGucket said softly. “It’s a big deal. They normally bicker fer ages over who gets to set off the first one.” 

“Your family’s pretty patriotic, isn’t it?” 

“We’re from the south, son. It’s what we do.” 

“Stan! Get over here!” Lute shouted. 

“I’m coming!” Stan headed over to where the McGucket siblings were crouched around a firework. There was a large box nearby, providing a large selection of different types. “Fidds, I’m surprised you’re excited to set these off.” 

“Why?” 

“Well, they’re not that safe.” 

“Does that mean ya won’t set it off?” 

“Oh, hell no.” Angie giggled, like usual, at Stan swearing. Stan grinned. “I’m gonna set off as many of those suckers as possible.” 

“Yes!” Angie said excitedly. She handed Stan a lighter. “Have at it.” Stan clicked the lighter and lit the tail end of the firework. They all scattered. Stan looked over at the firework, excited. His heart stopped. Angie was still staring at the firework, standing right next to it. 

“Shit!” He rushed forward and grabbed her, dragging her back, moments before the firework went off. “What the hell were you thinking? You could have blown that pretty face of yours off!” 

“Ya think I’m pretty?” 

“That’s not the important thing here! Why aren’t you even a bit upset?” Angie shrugged and brushed herself off. 

“Accidents happen. And it was worth it, to see the firework up close like that.” 

“God, you’re just like-” He cut his sentence short. 

“Just like what?” Angie asked, curiosity etched in her voice. 

_Just like my brother._

“Just like another genius idiot I know,” he said weakly. 

“That’s an oxymoron,” she said lightly, trying to hide her disappointment. She could tell that he was about to let something slip about his past. 

_These McGuckets are too damn perceptive for their own good. But if you want me to spill, you’re gonna have to try harder._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was fun to write. It's a couple days late for the 4th of July, but what can you do.  
> As always, if you have any questions or comments, leave them here or message me at thelastspeecher.tumblr.com.


	5. I Worked Mighty Hard

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **I worked mighty hard** and so did my wife/Workin’ hand in hand to make a good life – Peter, Paul and Mary, “Kisses Sweeter Than Wine”

“It’s only five, no ten dollars a pound!” The man looked over the radishes one more time.

“You drive a hard bargain, young man,” he said finally, handing the money over to Stan. Stan looked down at the bills in his hand.

_Hot damn, have I finally found something I’m actually_ good _at? I mean, my folks_ were _con artists, I guess it makes sense that I’d have a knack for scamming._

“Stan, ya sold all the radishes already?” Fiddleford asked, impressed. “I’m still workin’ on these strawberries. Normally, they get sold out first.”

“Well, you’re not bein’ charming enough,” Stan said. He frowned.

_I keep dropping the G at the ends of words. These McGuckets are rubbing off on me big time._

“Oh, don’t say that, Stan,” Mrs. McGucket said cheerfully, walking up to where the McGuckets, plus Stan, were selling some produce. “Fidds is a charmin’ young man.”

“Yeah, sure, but he’s too subdued. Ya have to be more vocal to sell this stuff.” Stan caught the eye of a woman walking a dog. “Hey, you look like you could use some strawberries!” he called. The woman turned. After looking him up and down, she headed over. 

“What makes ya say that?” she asked. 

“A lady as pretty as you must pay attention to her appearance.” The woman giggled girlishly. “Strawberries keep your skin clear. I mean, your skin’s amazin’. You should keep it that way.” The woman pursed her lips. “And these strawberries are the best berries you’ll ever have. Farm-fresh, picked by yours truly. They taste like sunshine.” The woman smiled.

“All right, I’ll try these amazin’ berries,” she said, opening her purse. “How much?”

“Four-”

“Seven dollars a pound,” Stan said, interrupting Fiddleford. Fiddleford frowned at Stan. 

“Seems like a good deal,” the woman said, handing over the money. Stan waved at her as she left.

“Pleasure doin’ business with ya!”

“Stanley!” Mrs. McGucket hissed. Stan turned.

“What?”

“That ain’t right, what ya just did.”

“Um, selling strawberries isn’t right?”

“Jackin’ up the price like that. Ya can make the sale, but ya can’t ask for more than we tell ya to.”

“But you could make so much more money if you did that! All of the things you sell are amazing. You’re selling them for way less than you should be.”

“It don’t matter, Stan. This is our house, our produce, our rules. Understand? Ya can’t pull that sort of thing. Makin’ some folks pay more than others seems like favoritism, and it could ruffle feathers. We don’t want to upset anyone.” Stan looked down at his feet. “Do ya understand?”

“…Yes.”

“Good. Now, you’ve been workin’ hard all day, why don’t ya take the kids and go get some lunch or treats or somethin’. Mearl and I can handle the stand for a couple hours.”

“All right, Mrs. McGucket.” Mrs. McGucket fished around in her purse and handed Fiddleford some money.

“Take good care of ‘em, Fidds and Stan. I trust ya.” 

“You got it, Ma.” Fiddleford gave his mother a peck on the cheek, then began to shout for Angie and Lute. Stan was about to join the McGucket siblings when Mrs. McGucket cleared her throat. He turned to face her.

“Yes, Mrs. McGucket?”

“Please, call me Sally.” Stan rubbed the back of his neck.

“I’m not sure about that…”

“Yer like a son to me, Stan. And none of my children call me ‘Mrs. McGucket’. If ya can’t call me Ma, then call me by my proper name. Okay?” Stan looked down at his feet.

_I’m like a son to her? Since when?_

“Okay…Sally.” Mrs. McGucket beamed.

“Now, go join the others, Stan. Have some fun. Yer only young once.”

 

“So, Stan, what do ya think of Little Rock?” Angie asked eagerly as they left the farmer’s market. “Ain’t it amazin’?”

“Eh, it’s all right,” Stan said, eyeing the buildings. “A little small.” Angie gasped. Stan turned to look at her. She seemed completely astonished.

“Small? It’s the biggest gosh darn city in all of Arkansas! Pardon my French. But it’s huge! How can ya call it small?”

“Forgive Angie, she’s never left the state,” Fiddleford said. “She hasn’t had much experience with really large cities.”

“Wait until ya go off to college!” Lute said to his younger sister. “St. Louis, now _that’s_ a big city.”

“I ain’t goin’ to St. Louis,” Angie muttered. She sighed. “I’ll probably never even leave Gumption. I’ll grow old and die in the same rinky-dink town I was born in.”

_She’s sick of her hometown, huh? I should probably change the topic._

“Have you really never left Arkansas?” Stan asked.

“Nope.” Angie sighed again. “Never.”

“That’s weird.”

“What, did ya ever leave New Jersey before ya came here?”

“Sure I did. I’ve been to New York a lot of times.” 

“What city are ya from?” Lute asked.

“Glass Shard Beach.”

“I’ve heard of that,” Fiddleford said idly, pulling Angie away from an open manhole. He looked over at Stan with a strange expression on his face. “Ain’t it right on the border of New Jersey and New York?” 

“Your point being?”

“It ain’t really fair to compare Angie never leavin’ the state to you visitin’ New York,” Lute said. “Gumption’s in the middle of Arkansas. You probably could’ve gone to a different state fer lunch. We can’t even go to a different _town_ fer lunch.”

“I keep forgetting how different small-town life is,” Stan said, walking past a small cluster of teenagers smoking pot. “Some things are the same everywhere, though.” 

“Ain’t that the truth,” Fiddleford said. He stiffened suddenly. “Lute, we should probably turn around.”

“What? Why?” Stan asked.

“Them no-good kids are gettin’ close.” 

“Who?”

“Well, well, if it ain’t the McBumpkins.” Three teenagers sauntered toward Stan and the McGuckets.

“It’s McGucket,” Lute said firmly.

_Lute looks pissed. If he’s that angry, Angie’s probably already attacked them._ Stan looked over at Angie. She had taken a step back, slightly behind her brothers and Stan, and was staring intently at the ground. _I’ve never seen her act like that before._

“I see you country folk have come back to the big city,” one of the teens said, smirking. “Haven’t ya learned that you don’t belong here?” Fiddleford stepped in front of Angie protectively. He didn’t respond. Neither did Lute.

“Hey, back off,” Stan warned. The teens looked at him, startled.

_Did they not notice me before?_

“An’ who are you? You don’t look like a hick.”

“I’m with them.”

“Why are ya with some rednecks?” Fiddleford made a strangled sound. “You seem like you’re better ‘n that. These dumbasses aren’t worth the time of someone like you. You look like someone who’s actually from civilization.” Lute clenched his jaw. 

“Hey, Guckets, what did ya do to land a city boy, huh? Did yer parents sell the cows and pigs?”

“If they did, that’s too bad for ‘em. Without all that shit around, what’ll they eat?” 

Stan looked at the McGuckets again, trying to figure out how to respond. Lute seemed furious, but he was keeping his anger in check. Fiddleford was bright red, clearly embarrassed. And Angie looked like she was ready to cry.

“Seriously, leave them alone.”

“Oh, come on, it ain’t that big of a deal! We’re old pals, ain’t that right, McGucket?” None of the McGuckets responded. “Oh, maybe ya didn’t hear me. Should I call fer ya? Soo-ee!” Angie sniffled. 

_What the hell is that? Wait…_ Stan remembered the county fair the McGuckets took him to the week before. They’d had a competition in hog-calling there. The competitors had made noises just like the teens. _Bastards._

“Soo-ee! Soo-oof!” Stan punched the lead teen with all of his strength.

“Good Lord,” Fiddleford muttered. 

“I told ya to leave them alone,” Stan growled. “Now, if you guys don’t want to eat a knuckle sandwich, I’d suggest you leave.” He could hear Fiddleford saying something to his younger siblings, ushering them away. But he was too focused to make out any words. The lead teen snarled at him.

“Yer gonna pay for that!” Stan grinned.

“Order up.”

 

“Stan, ya didn’t have to do that,” Fiddleford said gently. Angie took another band-aid out of her pocket and carefully stuck it on Stan’s arm. When he moved, interfering with her nursing efforts, she clucked her tongue.

“You sound like your mom.” 

“Me? Or Angie?”

“Yes.” Fiddleford rolled his eyes.

“I’m the oldest. I’ve got to watch y’all.” He frowned. “I’m not too pleased that ya went and got hurt. Ya didn’t need to do that.”

“You’re wrong.”

“Violence ain’t the answer,” Angie said softly.

“I don’t think you actually believe that,” Stan said to her. 

“That’s what Ma and Pa say.”

“Well, I know bullies. And bullies only speak one language. Fists.”

“I agree with Stan,” Lute put in. “Them kids have been messin’ with us fer years. They needed to be taught a lesson.”

“Don’t let Ma hear ya say that,” Angie muttered, sticking the band-aid wrapper in the pocket of her overalls. She gave Stan a once-over with a trained eye, looking for other cuts. She nodded, indicating that she didn’t see any more.

“Seriously, Stan, I don’t want ya to go after anyone else,” Fiddleford said. “We were fine.”

“Those teens got what they deserved, almost makin’ Angie cry.” Fiddleford huffed disapprovingly, but didn’t disagree. 

“I don’t want any of ya to get hurt,” he said in a softer tone than before.

“Older brother syndrome,” Lute said, rolling his eyes. “Got to keep everyone safe.” He smirked at his brother. “I’m surprised ya didn’t yell at ‘em like ya usually do.”

“I was ‘bout to,” Fidds muttered. “Nobody tries to call my younger brothers and sister like they would a hog. That ain’t right.”

_Did he say “brothers”? As in more than one?_

“We should prob’ly head back soon,” Angie said. “Ma and Pa ‘re goin’ to need some help with the stand.” She stood. Stan held out his hand, and she helped him up, looking him over again. “Ya didn’t get a black eye, but ya look like…”

“Like I just got in a fight?”

“…Yes.” She looked at Fiddleford. “Maybe we should stagger our arrivals. Let Ma and Pa know what to expect ‘fore Stan shows up. Otherwise they’ll freak out.” 

_Smart thinking._ Stan’s stomach rumbled. Angie looked at Stan and grinned.

“After we eat lunch, ‘course,” she said.

 

“This place has the best shakes I’ve ever had,” Lute said enthusiastically as they walked into the diner. Stan looked around.

_This place reminds me of The Juke Joint._

“Ya don’t say,” he said mildly. Lute walked up to the counter and was greeted by the worker at the register.

“Whattaya want, Lute?” the cashier asked. “The usual?” Lute looked back at Stan.

“Hey, Stan, what are ya in the mood for?”

“Uh, whatever. It all looks pretty damn good.” Lute chuckled. 

“All right, two of the usual.”

“Two?”

“One for me, one for my brother.”

“You got it.” Lute walked back to Stan to wait for their order.

“Uh, Fidds said he didn’t want to get lunch from here, remember? He went to the sandwich place with Angie.”

“I know.”

“Then why did you just order two?”

“One’s fer me, one’s fer you.”

“But you said the other one was for your brother.”

“Did I?” Lute paused for a moment before shrugging. “Same thing.”

“What is with your family calling me family?”

“You _are_ family.”

“I’m not.”

“Stan, you’ve been livin’ with us for almost three months. You’ve been workin’ on my fam’ly’s farm, spendin’ time with me, my siblings, and my parents. My Ma laughs at yer jokes and my Pa thinks yer the best worker he’s ever seen. You’ve been gettin’ horseback ridin’ lessons from my baby sister, trainin’ with me, and helpin’ Fidds out with his pet projects.”

“All I do is hand him a screwdriver when he asks for one.”

“Today you got yourself beat up defendin’ us. You’re my brother.”

_Well, damn._ Stan looked to the side, pretending to be admiring some generic photographs on the wall. _Look what you’ve done, Stanley. You said you weren’t going to give them hope that you would stay. Now they think that you’re part of their family. Shit._ He frowned. _But is that really a bad thing?_

“I guess…” he started slowly, “I guess that it’ll be nice to not be the youngest, for once.” Lute grinned, that characteristic McGucket smile spreading from ear to ear. 

“That’s the spirit, brother!” He patted Stan on the back, hard. His facial expression froze, though, once he registered what Stan had just said. “Stan, do you have siblings?”

“Yeah, you guys.”

“Stanley.” 

_You’ve made your bed. Might as well lay in it. He’s not joking around._

“I have two older brothers.”

“Is one of them the person from yer picture?”

“You saw that?” Lute had the grace to look abashed.

“Yessir. I was in yer room lookin’ fer somethin’ the other day. Accidentally knocked it off the nightstand.”

“Aw, shit.” Stan rubbed his face. “Did anyone else see it?”

“Angie prob’ly has. She’s too damn inquisitive.”

“She hasn’t said anything to me.”

“She wouldn’t have. She’s discreet.”

“I don’t know if I’d call _anyone_ in your family ‘discreet’.”

“But, Stan, is the other person in that picture yer brother?”

“Yes.” Stan paused, trying to decide how much to tell him.

_I can trust Lute._

“He’s my twin brother.” Lute’s eyes widened.

“Wow.”

“Yeah.”

“Ya know, no one in the McGucket family’s ever had a twin. Ever.” He looked at Stan carefully. “And as far as I’m concerned, that’s still true.”

“Thanks, man.”

“Ya might want to tell Ma and Pa about this.”

“No,” Stan said abruptly.

“Are ya sure?”

“Positive.” 

“Hey, Lute, yer orders are ready!”

“Stan,” Lute said softly. “Thank you for trustin’ me with this information.” Stan smiled weakly.

“No problem, brother.”

 

The truck ride back to Gumption was just as crowded as the ride there. 

“Again, I’m perfectly fine riding in the back,” Stan said, looking at the bed of the truck. “There’s fewer vegetables now.”

“Thanks to you,” Ma McGucket said, turning her head to smile at him. “Yer a natural salesman, Stan.”

“Thanks. Seriously, though, can I just sit back there?”

“No. It ain’t safe.” Stan groaned. “We’ve only got an hour left.”

“I’m goin’ to suffocate before then,” Stan muttered.

“At least ya aren’t in the middle,” Lute huffed. He was sandwiched between Fiddleford and Stan.

“Yeah, tell him, Lute!” Angie chimed in. She didn’t have a seatbelt, but she was squeezed between her parents up front.

“That’s what ya get fer bein’ small,” Fidds said in a teasing tone. Angie twisted around to look at him.

“I’m goin’ to miss ya, Fidds,” she said softly.

“Why?” Stan asked, confused.

“He’s movin’ back to school in a couple days,” Angie complained. “And then Lute’s movin’, too.” She sighed. “I liked havin’ my big brothers ‘round. Even if y’all do tease me sometimes.”

“Hey, you’ll still have Stan!” Lute said cheerfully.

“Yeah, I’m not goin’ to college. Ever.” Angie frowned.

“Why not?”

“Even if I had the grades, there’s the whole thing about me not finishing high school.” Angie’s eyes widened.

“You never finished high school?” she asked. Ma McGucket turned to look back at Stan. She had the same expression her daughter did.

“Stanley, is that true?” 

_Shit. Why do I keep spilling my secrets to these people? It must that southern charm. I need to keep my goddamn mouth shut._

“Uh, yeah.”

“We’ll fix that,” Pa McGucket said.

“What does that mean?”

“Angie, turn back around,” Ma McGucket said. Angie huffed and turned to face the front.

“What does that mean?!” Stan repeated, getting worried.

“What do ya think it means?” Pa McGucket asked.

_Oh. Oh, no._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy one-year anniversary of "A Tale of Two Stans"! I've actually had the next chapter written out for quite some time. It's a good one, if I do say so myself. When will it go up? ...Eventually.  
> As always, if you have any questions or comments, leave them below or message me at thelastspeecher.tumblr.com.


	6. Small Town Eyes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Their **small town eyes** will gape at you/In dull surprise – Janis Ian, “At Seventeen”

“Listen, son, ya need to finish yer high school education.”

“Why? I mean, I already got a job.” Ma and Pa McGucket gave him identical looks, which conveyed the message “you need to be serious right now”. “Sorry.”

“Why are ya so determined to not go back to school?” Ma McGucket asked him, putting down her knitting. “Are ya embarrassed? ‘Cause no one ‘round here will know yer repeatin’ a year.” Stan rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly.

“Well, it’s sorta the embarrassment thing I guess,” he said slowly. He swallowed hard.

 _I don’t want to tell them the real reason. But they’re not like my folks. I can trust them._ He took a deep, shuddering breath.

“I’m not smart enough,” he said finally, in a choked up voice.

_Dammit. Hold back your tears, Stanley._

“What do ya mean?” Ma McGucket asked in a soothing tone.

“Your kids are all geniuses! Fiddleford says they’re not, but they are. All of your kids are brilliant. Me? I’m too dumb to finish high school. Your kids are smart enough to skip all four years if they wanted.”

“You’re right. All of our kids are smart. Includin’ you,” Pa McGucket said without hesitation.

“That’s- that’s not what I meant. I meant your real kids. Fidds and the rest, they’re prodigies. I bet Angie never dropped out.”

“She would’ve if we’d let her,” Ma McGucket said, picking up her knitting again. Stan’s eyes widened.

“What?”

“Angie’s never been that good at school.” Stan’s mouth dropped open.

“But she’s brilliant!”

“Yes. But sometimes intelligence comes with a price,” Pa McGucket said. “Angie’s a smart lil cookie, but she’s always movin’, always distracted, and don’t follow the rules all the time. And some of her teachers don’t like that she needs someone to explain things a different way for her to understand it.” Stan looked down.

_Needs people to explain things differently? Sounds sorta like me._

“You’re just as smart as any of our other kids,” Ma McGucket said. “Intelligence comes in dif’rent forms. Dif’rent packages. Some folks need help, others don’t. Just ‘cause all the smart folks you’ve met didn’t need help don’t mean all smart folks in the world are the same.” Stan swallowed.

“It took a while for us to convince folks to give Angie some help,” Pa McGucket said. “They were thinkin’ she wanted ‘special treatment’.” He said the last two words with a look on his face similar to someone smelling rancid meat. “It ain’t. It’s like givin’ someone with bad legs a cane. That ain’t special treatment, it’s just help to walk with the rest of us.” He looked at Stan. “And we’ll make sure folks help you, too.”

“But Angie’s smart, even if she had issues in school. I’m not.”

“Stan, ya took to all this hard farm work like a fish to water,” Ma McGucket said briskly. “Ya listen to our kids ramblin’ ‘bout whatever tickles their fancy and remember what they say. Ya connect dots quicker than a stargazer. You’ve got a natural talent with people. Yer smart. Not book smart, but ya very well could be some day.” She shrugged. “And even if ya aren’t, ya still need a high school diploma.” Stan closed his eyes.

 _I can’t convince them._ He thought back to the picture in his room. _I’m not the smart twin. I’m not. But I suppose they’ll figure that out soon enough._

“Okay, I’ll go back to school,” he said softly.

 

Stan walked through the doors of Gumption High School. Angie had told him on the drive over that the town was small enough that there was a high school and an elementary school. No middle school. They just added eighth grade to the high school and six and seventh grade to the elementary school. He clenched the strap of the bookbag Ma and Pa McGucket had insisted on buying for him. Angie looked at him, smiling supportively. 

“Come on,” she said gently, grabbing his hand and pulling him forward. They walked past a sign supporting school spirit for the Gumption High School Raccoons.

“So that’s your mascot, huh? Raccoons?” he asked. Angie nodded. “That’s…kinda weird.” She rolled her eyes. Someone passing by said hi to her.

“Oh, hey Leighanne.”

“Are ya excited to be done with high school and leave this sad lil town?” Leighanne asked her. Angie smiled forcefully.

“I s’pose. But ain’t it a bit early to be talkin’ ‘bout graduation? Today’s the first day of class!” Stan let himself zone out while Angie chatted. He took in the school.

 _Kinda cramped. Maybe they_ should _get a separate middle school._ He was easily one of the tallest people around, and even though there was more diversity in appearance here than at the McGucket household, he could tell that he still stood out. _Shit. Fuck. This was a bad idea. I shouldn’t have agreed to this. I’m gonna fail, and the McGuckets will kick me out. Just like my folks did._

“An’ who are you?” Stan blinked, pulled out of his reverie by a question being asked in a rude voice. He turned to face the source, a teenaged boy with straw blond hair and a pretentious expression.

“Uh, me?”

“Yeah, you.”

“My name’s Stan. Stan Pines.” The boy laughed derisively.

“A city boy, here in Gumption? This is goin’ to be a good school year.” Stan’s heart sunk. 

“What’s wrong with me growin’ up in the city?” he asked, trying to muscle some of his usual bluster. But under the circumstances, it was difficult.

“I’ve seen yer kind before. Yer goin’ to think we’re just a bunch of hicks, that yer better than us.”

“I don’t!” The boy scoffed and rolled his eyes.

“It’s not like you’d fit in very well anyways. Might as well separate yourself from the rest of us. I can smell the city slicker on ya.” Stan felt Angie, who was standing right next to him, stiffen. “Ya don’t belong here. Just go on back to the big city.”

“Max, leave him alone!” Angie snapped, stepping in front of Stan protectively. Max’s eyes widened in surprise.

“Angie McGucket? Why are ya defendin’ a city boy? You’re no fan of city folk, either.” Angie turned red. She looked ready to fight him.

“He’s with me. It don’t matter that he was raised in a city. He’s been livin’ with my folks for months. Ya need to back off.”

“Or what?” Angie got a hard glint in her eye.

“Do ya really want to tick off the McGuckets by messin’ with their farmhand and youngest daughter?” she asked snidely. Max blanched.

“Fine, I’ll leave ya alone with yer city slicker pet.” Stan grabbed Angie, as she attempted to leap at Max.

“Ya best move along now,” she snarled at Max, who looked scared. “‘Fore I make Stan let me go.” Max walked away quickly.

“Angie what was that ‘bout?” Stan asked her quietly. Leighanne was gone, having ended her conversation with Angie a few minutes ago. “He was just an asshole. I can handle assholes.”

“I don’t like people bein’ rude to folks I care ‘bout.”

“I’m the same way.”

“I know.”

“Why did he decide to leave when you name dropped your own family?”

“No one messes with the McGuckets,” she said brusquely. “We have a good reputation in this here town. Folks what mess with McGuckets regret it.” Stan looked at her, impressed by having found yet another side to the already well-rounded Angie.

“I can see why.”

 

Angie opened the door to the high school’s main office. She smiled charmingly at the secretary.

“Good mornin’, Ms. Johnson.” The secretary looked up and smiled back.

“Good mornin’, Ms. McGucket. I certainly hope ya won’t be a regular here this year.”

“No, I’m not plannin’ on that. But Stan and I were supposed to meet with Mr. Baum.”

“Of course. Y’all can take a seat.” Angie opted to not take a seat, instead standing in front of the fish tank and running a finger along it, trying to get the fish to follow. Stan took a seat next to the tank and watched her, struggling to stay calm.

 _The last time I was in a principle’s office…_ As though sensing his distress, Angie stopped looking at the fish to smile at him reassuringly.

“Ms. McGucket, Mr. Pines?” a voice called from an office further back. Angie pulled Stan from his chair and led him through a doorway. An older man with square glasses and almost no hair looked at the two of them. “Please, have a seat.” The man steepled his fingers. “So, Angie, yer parents said that Stan is a transfer.”

“Yessir.”

“Unfortunately, they were unable to transfer any of his records.” Stan’s heart stopped.

“That don’t make any sense, sir. They told me they sent ya what classes he took. Stan told ‘em.”

“Yes, but that doesn’t necessarily qualify as legitimate records.”

“Ma and Pa ‘re tryin’ to get those records. But it’s kinda difficult, ‘cause of his unique sit’ation.”

“Unique situation?”

“My parents kicked me out last April,” Stan interjected. “I was livin’ on the streets. Mr. and Mrs. McGucket took me in. I never finished school.” Angie made a soft noise. He looked at her. She looked heartbroken. 

_Shit, that’s right. Angie didn’t know my dad kicked me out._

“Are ya legally an adult?” Mr. Baum asked.

“Yes.”

“Then ya can get a hold of yer own records. Sally and Dulcimearl don’t need to do so.”

“…Really?”

“Yes. I don’t blame them for not bein’ aware of that. They can get caught up in bein’ good. And they’re not lawyers.” Angie looked down uncomfortably. “For the time bein’, we’ll trust what ya said. Ya can attend the classes you’ve been registered for. But I expect those records by the end of the month. Understand?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Good.” He smiled, but it seemed slightly forced. “Welcome to Gumption High School, Mr. Pines.”

 

Stan managed to hold in his feelings from the moment he got his first exam back, right up to the second he walked through the door back home.

“Motherfucker!” he yelled at the top of his lungs. There was a silence that followed his exclamation. 

_What in the- usually when I swear Angie laughs._ He turned. Angie was standing behind him, her big blue eyes wide. She looked worried, sad, and, Stan hated to see, scared. Her hands were shaking.

“Angie? Are you all right?” She took a nervous step back. Stan’s heart broke. “What’s wrong?”

“I feel like I should be askin’ _you_ that,” she said softly. 

“Why are you reactin’ like this?” Angie bit her lip and looked down.

“Ya seem so angry. It’s…it’s terrifyin’.”

“Oh no.” Stan took a hesitant step toward her. She didn’t move away any more. “I keep forgettin’ that you didn’t grow up with parents like mine. You aren’t used to angry yellin’.” He didn’t know how it was possible, but her eyes got even bigger.

“Yer parents yelled like that?” she whispered. Stan nodded. She moved forward and embraced him. “I’m so sorry.”

“Why?”

“I shouldn’t have been scared of ya. And ya shouldn’t have been so used to yellin’ like that.” Stan shrugged, which was difficult to do, as Angie was currently pinning his arms to his sides.

“It’s all right.” Angie nodded and broke off the hug.

“Why are ya so angry?” she asked, her voice and demeanor not quite back to normal, but better than before. Stan sighed. He walked into the kitchen and slumped into one of the chairs at the table. Angie followed him. She sat in the chair next to him, her posture as perfect as always.

“I failed my first exam.” Angie blinked. Stan dug in his bag and slid the paper to her. She skimmed it. 

“Oh.”

“I told ya. I told all of ya. I’m not cut out for this. I’m an idiot.” He slammed his head against the table.

“No. You aren’t.” 

“Yes I am.”

“Stan.” He lifted his head. Angie wasn’t pitying. She wasn’t sympathetic. She was understanding. “I failed plen’y of exams last year.”

“Yeah, your parents said something about you havin’ issues in school.” Angie nodded.

“It’s ‘cause I think dif’rently. So do you.” Stan scoffed. “No, it’s true! I can tell. We both have dif’rent ways of thinkin’ and behavin’ and livin’ than most folks. And even though we’re even dif’rent from each other, we’re still kinda sim’lar.” 

“What are you sayin’?”

“I’m sayin’ that I can help ya, Stan.”

“Like a tutor?”

“Yes! And unlike most tutors, my brain works like yours. I know how to explain things to ya. ‘Cause it’s how I explain things to myself.” 

“I don’t know. I mean, your constant energy and trouble understandin’ things sometimes are way different than my ‘numbers running away’ problem.” Angie frowned.

“‘Numbers runnin’ away’?”

“Whenever I look at a page filled with numbers, they fall off the page. Or they get all mixed up.” Angie got a pensive look. 

“It ain’t quite what happens to me, but it’s kinda sim’lar.”

“…What happens to you?”

“I can’t keep track of the numbers. I look at one and then want to see the next one, but I forget it right after I stop lookin’ at it.” Stan was now fully invested, in spite of himself.

“What do ya do?”

“Instead of lookin’ at one number, I look at ‘em all. I focus on the big picture, not the lil one.”

“I don’t think that would work for me. I’d probably just get more confused.”

“Then we find somethin’ that works for ya.” Angie seemed more determined than he had ever seen her before. “Shouldn’t be too hard. Yer a smart cookie, like me. We just gotta be clever. We can do it.” Stan smiled weakly.

“All right, Angie. We’ll try it your way.” Angie smiled fiercely.

“Good. ‘Cause it’ll work.”

 

 _“Stanford Pines”?_ Fiddleford looked at his roommate assignment. His old roommate had graduated last year, so this year he had to share a dorm with a freshman. _A freshman with almost the same name as my not-legally-but-basically-brother._ He shrugged and put a generic smile on. _Maybe this is somethin’ we can sort of bond over. Laugh over. I mean, I bet there’s no relation at all. It’ll just be a funny coincidence._

Fiddleford wasn’t sure what Stan’s family had done that had resulted in him staying with them. He wasn’t sure if his parents knew. But he knew that it would be best for Stan’s safety and health if he didn’t contact them or interact with them. 

_That’s what Ma and Pa said._ His smile wavered for a moment. _I hope my roommate ain’t Stan’s long lost twin brother or somethin’._ Fiddleford chuckled softly at his own joke and opened the door to his room. _Whoa, he must’ve moved in early._ Stanford was completely unpacked. His side of the room was fully decorated. Fiddleford cleared his throat. His roommate, who had been sitting on his bed, reading a book, looked up. Fiddleford’s heart plummeted. 

“Hello, I’m Stanford Pines!” his roommate said cheerfully. Fiddleford tried not to wince at the sound of Stanford’s voice. Stanford stood up and walked over.

 _Same name, same face, same vague New Jersey accent. Dear Lord, what is going on?_ He took the offered hand and shook it, eyes widening when he registered the extra finger. _Stan would have mentioned a polydactyl brother, it’s probably just a coincidence. It’s got to be._

“Fiddleford McGucket,” he replied cheerfully. Stanford seemed relieved that Fiddleford didn’t comment on his extra finger.

“Pleased to meet you. I hope you don’t mind that I’ve already chosen my side of the room and set everything up.”

“Oh, it’s no problem.” As Fiddleford carried his bag to his bed, he surreptitiously looked at Stanford’s photos. 

_No sign of Stan anywhere._ He sighed, relieved. _A coincidence. That’s all it is._

“So, what’s your major, Fiddleford?” Stanford asked, sitting back on his bed.

“Engineerin’. And you?”

“Physics.”

“That’s nice. Have ya seen much of campus?”

“Uh, no. I’ve been trying to do some pre-class session studying.” Fiddleford looked at his new roommate, bewildered.

_Pre-class studying? Why?_

“Well, maybe I can show ya ‘round,” he said.

“That…might be nice.” Fiddleford smiled.

“Glad to hear it. We can leave at six. How’s that sound, Stan…ford?”

_Shoot! He looks so darn much like Stan. It’s goin’ to confuse me the entire semester, I can just tell._

“You can call me Ford, Fiddleford.”

“And you can call me Fidds, Ford.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was a bit of a quick update (I've had this written for weeks, and I'm a bit impatient to post it), but you'll have to wait a little while for the next chapter.  
> In case anyone was wondering, I headcanon Stan as having dyslexia, so that's what he was talking about in this chapter. Angie also has a learning disability (ADHD), as well as a developmental disability. Bonus points to anyone who guessed that Angie might have ADHD.  
> One last thing: I have some scenes that I've had to cut from this fic for length, or because I was worried it would disrupt the flow of the chapter. I also have some scenes that take place after this fic ends. I was wondering if anyone would be interested in seeing those scenes, sometime after I've finished up this fic. Let me know in the comments.  
> And as always, if you have any questions or comments, leave them below or message me at thelastspeecher.tumblr.com.


	7. Don't Give Yourself Away

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you care, don’t let them know, **don’t give yourself away** – Joni Mitchell, “Both Sides Now”
> 
> Trigger warning for this chapter: homophobic language and period-typical homophobia.

The phone was picked up on the second ring.

“McGucket residence, Stan speakin’.”

“Hey, brother!”

“Fiddleford!” Fidds grinned. He could hear Stan shouting at Angie and his parents that he was on the phone. “Ya know, you don’t have to call me that.”

“No, I do.”

“I know y’all consider me family. Ya don’t have to keep remindin’ me,” Stan said firmly. Fiddleford looked over at his roommate, who was hovering awkwardly nearby, waiting for a chance to use the phone. Even at this moment, he was going over one of his textbooks.

“It ain’t about that.”

“Then what _is_ it about?”

_I’m seriously wondering if you have a secret brother you never told me about. Because there are too many similarities between you and Stanford for it to be a coincidence. And if I’m right, I don’t want him to hear your name. At least, not now._

“…It don’t matter,” he said finally. There was a shuffling sound over the line.

“Move over, Stan!” Fiddleford’s grin got so big it almost hurt. He’d always been especially close to his younger sister. Hearing her voice made his day brighter. “Fidds!” she shouted into the phone.

“Ya don’t need to yell, Angie.”

“Sorry,” she said at a normal volume. “Ya interrupted me and Stan studyin’.”

“Did I hear ya right? Are you, Angie Quinn McGucket, actually studyin’?”

“I forgot that your middle name was Quinn,” he could hear Stan say, though his voice was muffled. 

“It’s ‘cause I have five older siblings.”

“I’m gonna call ya ‘Angie Q.’ from now on.”

“What? Why?” 

“It suits ya.”

“…You’re weird,” Angie said determinedly. Fiddleford cleared his throat. Angie redirected her attention back to her brother. “Oh, right, Fidds is on the line.” She paused for a moment. “But, yeah, Stan and I are studyin’.”

“Good for you.” Fidds looked at his roommate again, who was now drawing equations in the air with a pensive expression. “Just…be sure to take a break every now and then.”

“Well, yeah. Stan and I take breaks. We go get ice cream, or go lookin’ fer amphibians in the forest, or cook things, or read books, or-”

“I get it,” Fidds said with a chuckle, gently cutting her off before she could ramble for too long. “Ya take plen’y of breaks. That’s good.”

“Yeah, turns out Stan’s a natural at English class! An’ Spanish! He has a knack for languages, I s’pose. Oh, an’ creative writin’!”

“Creative writin’? Really?”

“It’s like lyin’, but different,” Stan said lazily. “Right up my alley.”

“Stan, tell him what you’ve been workin’ on.”

“I found a guitar in your room when I was chasin’ Joel around the house. I’m tryin’ to teach myself some songs.”

“I keep tellin’ him to wait until you or Basstian get back, ‘cause it’s yer instrument and Basstian is a music teacher, but he don’t listen.”

“Not listenin’, huh? Reminds me of someone else.”

“Yer roommate?”

“No, you.” Fiddleford frowned. “Why would ya think I was talkin’ ‘bout my roommate? Ya don’t know anythin’ ‘bout him!”

“Ooh, ooh, tell us about him!” Angie said excitedly.

“Yeah, is he as much of a nerd as you?” Stan asked.

“Even worse.”

“What? How is that possible?”

“He’s waitin’ right now to use the phone, but he’s doin’ practice problems.”

“Neeeeeerrrrrd,” Stan intoned solemnly. Angie sniggered. Ford looked up, as though he could hear Stan. He smiled nervously at Fidds. Fidds smiled back. 

“Gimme a mo’.” He put the phone to his chest and shouted at Ford. “My fam’ly’s on, do ya want to talk to ‘em?”

“Oh, uh, no thank you,” Ford replied hesitantly. “But, um, you can give them my best.” Fiddleford quirked a half-smile at Ford’s phrasing. He brought the phone to his ear again.

“He says hi.”

“Hi, Fidds’ roommate!” Angie shouted, making Fiddleford wince.

“Angie, he can’t hear ya.”

“Oh, right.” There was some more shuffling over the line. “Ma ‘n Pa want to talk to ya. Bye, Fidds. Call soon, okay?”

“Bye, Angie and Stan. Keep studyin’. I’ll stay in touch, don’t you worry.” There was even more shuffling. 

“Howdy there, sweetheart,” Ma McGucket said. 

“Hey, Ma.”

“How’s school treatin’ ya?”

“Pretty good.”

“And yer new roommate? Is he nice?”

“He’s all right. He could take his nose outta a book ev’ry now and then.”

“Maybe ya could take him out somewhere.” Fiddleford’s heart did a strange flipping sensation, at the idea of himself and Ford alone at dinner.

_Geez, Fidds, tone it down._

“Maybe,” he said in a very restrained voice. 

“Hmm.” His Ma could tell there was something he wasn’t telling her.

“What’s this I hear about Stan and Angie studyin’?” he asked, trying to change the topic. His Ma sighed.

“Don’t think I don’t know what yer doin’, Fiddleford Hadron McGucket.”

_Shoot._

“But I s’pose I’ll just have to wait for ya to tell me.” He sighed, relieved. “Yep, Angie and Stan have been studyin’. Not only is Stan gettin’ B’s an’ even a couple A’s, Angie’s grades have improved, too.”

“Well, she almost failed last year, it’s not that difficult to improve an F.”

“Fiddleford.”

“Sorry.”

“Havin’ Stan ‘round is motivatin’ her to study. She wants to prove to Stan that he can do well in school. In the process, she’s doin’ better, too.” He could hear her smile in her voice. “Havin’ Stan ‘round has been good fer just ‘bout all of us. Includin’ Stan.”

“That’s amazin’!” He scuffed the toe of his shoe against the floor nervously. 

_I have to ask._ He cleared his throat.

“Speakin’ of Stan,” he began slowly, “have ya learned anythin’ ‘bout his fam’ly?”

“Angie says that he told her his dad got angry at him for somethin’ and kicked him out.”

“What? That’s ridiculous!”

“I agree.”

“Does he have any sisters? Brothers?” There was a long silence on the other end. 

“I try not to pry too much, and neither does yer Pa. You know that.” Another pause. “But I was cleanin’ his room and saw a picture of him and some other boy, ‘bout his age, that looked an awful lot like him.”

“Has anyone else seen this picture?”

“Angie almost definitely has. I think Lute has.” 

“Okay.”

“Seriously, Fiddleford, I don’t want ya to talk to Stan ‘bout any of this. He’ll tell us what he wants to when he wants to. Almost all of this is conjecture.”

“Yeah.”

“We need to respect his privacy. He’ll tell us if and when he wants to.”

“I know, Ma.” Fiddleford looked over at Ford, who was still waiting. He didn’t seem that eager to call his parents. But apparently they insisted on hearing from him. Something about how they wanted to know that their money wasn’t being wasted. “I know.”

 

Stan leaned against the wall outside the drugstore, spending his free day doing one of his favorite things: picking up chicks. 

_But none of the girls here are biting._ He perked up at the sight of two blondes headed his way, chatting with each other. As they passed, he nodded at them. 

“Hey there, Alyssa. Ivy.” Ivy rolled her eyes and kept walking. Alyssa looked him up and down with a discerning eye.

“Howdy, Stan.”

_Fucking finally!_

“How’d ya feel about spendin’ some time with me at the drive-in?” He winked. “I’ll even let ya drive my car.” She scoffed and began to walk again. 

“Nice try, farmhand.” 

_Well, shit._ He sighed and slipped a bit down the wall. _Girls ‘round here don’t like my patented dating technique._

“Queer!” Stand stood up abruptly at the sound of a shout from a nearby alley. 

_Who the fuck…?_ He began to walk toward where he’d heard the voice come from. Once he’d turned into the alley, he felt his hands get ice cold. Two large boys were throwing a much smaller, skinnier boy around. He recognized the bullies as being a football player and a member of the marching band. The boy being thrown around sat in front of him in art class.

_What’s his name? Nick…Browne, I think. He keeps offering me help with the painting assignments. Nice kid._

“Fag!” the marching band member jeered. The coldness in Stan’s hands spread to his chest.

_I guess there_ is _something that could bring together the football team and marching band._ He blinked, and suddenly he was in a memory from a few summers ago.

 

_“Queer! Faggot!”_

_“Hey! Leave him alone!” Stan shoved the entirety of his admittedly rather large sixteen-year-old body at Crampelter. The other teen hit the ground, hard._

_“Your brother’s a pervert! A homosexual!” Crampelter spat._

_“What? What makes you say that?” Stan demanded, standing in front of Ford protectively. He had arrived to the scene a bit later than usual. Ford was pretty clearly going to have a fantastic shiner in an hour or so._

_“Y’know Terry Johanssen, the scrawny nerd that works at the library? I saw your brother checking him out like he was a book.” He grinned at Ford, but the expression held no happiness or joy, just pure venom and hatred. “He’s going to hell and he can’t even bother to have good taste.”_

_“Seriously, Crampelter, back off,” Stan growled. His mind was racing with the accusations, however._

Ford’s never had a girlfriend before. Never even been interested in girls. Could he really be…? _Crampelter got to his feet._

_“You queers better not be making those goo-goo eyes at men around my little brother.” He said the word “men” with extreme distaste. “I don’t want you turning him into one of you.” Stan snarled._

_“Get the fuck away from us. Or you’ll regret it.” Crampelter and his friends swaggered away with their usual bravado, jeering as they left. Stan turned to his brother. Ford was just about in tears. “Hey, hey, Ford, it’s fine.” He guided his brother to a nearby bench and patted him on the shoulder awkwardly. He looked back at the direction Crampelter had gone off in. “They’re just trying to mess with you. I mean, it’s not like you’re_ actually _a-” He cut off. Ford was refusing to look at him. “Ford, are you a homosexual?”_

_“What? No!” Ford shouted indignantly, shoving Stan’s hand off his shoulder. Stan swallowed, trying to keep down years of hateful speech from his father._

_“If you were,” he said in a low voice, “I wouldn’t hold it against you. I don’t care about that. You’re my brother. I’ll always be here for you.”_

_“Well, you don’t need to worry about it,” Ford snapped. “Because I’m not a- a-” He sniffled. “I’m not, I can’t be-” He let out a sob and broke down. “I- I think they’re right, Stan. I think I’m a homosexual.” Stan’s eyes widened. He wrapped an arm around his brother’s shoulder._

_“I don’t care,” he replied softly. “You’re my brother, homosexual or not. And if anyone messes with you for checking out Terry Johanssen’s ass, lemme know. Because I’ll kick_ theirs _.” He paused. “Their ass,” he added in clarification. Ford laughed._

_“Thanks, Stan,” he said quietly._

_“But seriously, Terry Johanssen? There’s way better eye candy around here. Have you_ seen _Carla’s cousin?”_

_“Rodrigo?”_

_“He’s hot as hell._ He’s _the guy you should be chasing.” Ford laughed again and punched him on the shoulder._

_“I’ll be sure to keep that in mind.”_

_“Now how’s about we get back to work on the Stan O’ War?”_

_“Sounds good. But, before we go, could we sit here for a little while?”_

_“You got it, bro. High six?” He held up his hand. After a moment, Ford held up his._

_“High six.”_

 

Stan emerged from the memory, suddenly seeing red. He rushed forward to stand in front of Nick protectively. 

“Back the _fuck_ off!” he growled. The two bullies stopped, more out of surprise than fear. 

“Stanley Pines, the McGucket farmhand,” the football player said. “Why are ya defendin’ a queer?” Stan felt Nick shudder behind him. He swallowed his rage. 

“What did he ever do to you?” he asked in a barely controlled voice. 

“He’s spreadin’ his homosexual agenda all over this here town,” the marching band member sneered. “My lil siblings are goin’ to be queers too, if he’s allowed to shove his perversion down their throats.” 

“He ain’t perverted.” 

“Sure he is.” 

“How?” The marching band member scoffed. 

_What’s his name? Justin, right? And the football player, that’s Tristan. Wouldya look at that. They’ve got matching names._

“He’s a homosexual,” Justin spat. “He loves men the way yer s’posed to love women. How isn’t that perverted?” 

“I don’t see how it’s perverted,” Stan said. It had taken him a long time to fight down his father’s hateful beliefs, but he’d done it to protect his brother. 

_And to protect other kids, too, I guess._

“Love can’t be perverted,” he said softly, evenly. Justin and Tristan stared at him, clearly disgusted. 

“Well, yer just a queer, too, ain’t ya?” Tristan said finally. 

“That must be why the McGuckets took ya in,” Justin said. 

“What?” 

“Everyone knows one of the McGucket kids is a queer.” Stan’s stomach flipped over. “The only reason no one messes with ‘em is ‘cause of respect fer their parents.” Tristan looked at Justin, a hateful sneer on his face. “No matter what they say, they’ve got three girls and three boys.” 

_What the fuck is he talking about? Violynn and Angie are the only girls._

“Ya know, folks have been wonderin’ why yer livin’ with the McGuckets,” Tristan continued. “Looks like we found out why. Yer parents kicked ya out fer being a faggot.” Stan didn’t even realize he had punched the football player until Tristan was lying on the ground with a bloody nose. 

“Get runnin’, Nick,” he muttered. Nick obliged, scrambling away from what was sure to be a fight scene very soon. Stan cracked his knuckles. “No one talks ‘bout my family like that.” 

 

Stan walked through the door of the house, looking down at his bruised hands. 

_Those two boys had thick skulls. How am I gonna do farmwork like this?_ He frowned. _Guess I’ll just have to tough my way through it._

“Howdy, Stan. Did ya enjoy bein’ at the drugstore?” Ma McGucket asked, emerging from the kitchen, drying her hands with a towel. Stan didn’t have time to hide his bruises. She gasped. “Stanley, what happened?” She ushered him into the kitchen and into a chair. “I’ll get ya a nice bowl to soak yer hands in.” 

“Thanks, Sally, but it ain’t necessary.” 

“No, it most certainly is. Yer a farmhand. Yer hands are important.” 

“I know,” he muttered. Ma McGucket took a big bowl from a cabinet and began to fill it up with warm water. She added something to it and set it in front of him. He put his hands in. 

_Damn, that feels good._

“What happened?” Ma McGucket repeated. Stan’s stomach churned uncomfortably. 

“I caught some bullies,” he said, deciding to technically tell the truth, but leave the bullies’ motivation out of it. “And I handled the situation.” He looked up at her. Her blue eyes were full of compassion, just like her kids’ eyes often were. 

“Stan, that’s mighty kind of ya,” she said gently. “But violence ain’t the answer.” 

“Sometimes it is.” She frowned. “I _tried_ to talk these guys out of beating up some poor kid. But the only way I could save Nick Browne was to beat up his bullies.” She got a pensive look. Pa McGucket walked into the kitchen. He took in the scene before him. 

“What happened?” 

“Stan saved Nicky Browne from gettin’ the tar beat out of him again,” Ma McGucket replied. 

“Does Nick regularly get beaten up?” Stan asked. Pa McGucket nodded and took a seat at the table with his wife and Stan. 

“Ever since he got his first boyfriend.” Stan swallowed. “That was awful nice of ya, Stan.” 

“Thanks.” Stan looked down, his stomach continuing to churn. 

_I have to ask._

“How- how do you feel about…homosexuals?” Pa McGucket let out a long sigh. Stan looked up. 

“It weren’t even that long ago when we didn’t care for ‘em,” he said. “Didn’t understand ‘em, didn’t like ‘em.” 

“But that was ‘fore one of our kids said they was one,” Ma McGucket continued for her husband. 

_So those boys_ were _telling the truth._

“When one of yer kids tells ya ‘Ma, Pa, I think I’m a homosexual, I think I'm a trans-gender’, what do ya say?” Pa McGucket asked. “Ya tell him what ya promised ya always would. Ya tell him ya love him.” He shifted in his seat. “And ya do. No matter what. ‘Cause he’s yer son.” He smiled halfheartedly. “Even though ya thought he was yer daughter for most of his life.” Stan’s jaw dropped. “Yes, Stan, we raised one of our boys, thinkin’ the entire time that he was a girl.” He shrugged. “We didn’t know any better. But that’s what ya do, if yer a good parent. Ya love and accept yer kids. And ya learn. So that you _will_ know better the next time.” 

“Who is it?” Stan asked. Ma McGucket pursed her lips before replying. 

“He’ll tell ya if and when he wants to.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a quick fyi, I realize that some of the LGBT language used in this was potentially triggering and problematic, which is why I've added a couple extra tags and a warning at the beginning so that people are aware of it. I did my absolute best to avoid using too much problematic language, but given the time period, I was not able to avoid all of it.  
> And, given the large response, I'm going to be posting the extra scenes from this AU in a follow-up fic after this one has been finished. It'll include things like tornadoes, birthdays, and Stan bonding with the individual McGucket children.  
> As always, if you have any questions or comments, leave them below or message me at thelastspeecher.tumblr.com.


	8. The Folks That I Meet

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And **the folks that I meet** ain’t always kind/Some are bad, some are good, some have done the best they could – Johnny Cash, “Can’t Help But Wonder Where I’m Bound”

Stan looked over at Angie. She was humming something, happily brushing down Daisy. The evening light pouring through the open barn door fell upon her. They had just finished up a ride. Angie kept insisting he would learn how to gallop someday. Stan wasn’t quite sure about that. He gave Hardtack a quick pat and sat down on a hay bale nearby. 

_Now’s the time to ask._

“Hey, uh, Angie?” Angie looked up at him with a dazzling smile.

“Yes?” 

"Why aren't there any pictures of Fidds from when he was a kid?" Something changed in Angie's demeanor. Her cheerful veneer and grin vanished, replaced by a more serious side to her that he'd only ever seen glimpses of. She swallowed and dropped the curry comb into the box containing her other grooming equipment. She took so long to reply that he wasn’t sure she was going to.

"It was about three years ago. I woke up the week after Fidds' sixteenth birthday, and Ma was takin' down all the pictures of Fidds.” Angie picked up a hoof pick, but didn’t do anything with it. She just stared at it in her hand. “I asked her what was goin' on. She looked at me, and I could tell she was nervous 'bout somethin'. She said that Fidds didn't like the pictures of him with long hair, so she was puttin' 'em away." Angie looked at Stan then. He could see a hard, cold intelligence in her eyes, vastly different from the bubbly brilliance she usually manifested. "But she was lyin'. Or at least, she wasn't tellin' the full truth. 'Cause there are plen'y of pictures I don't like of myself up on the walls. But Ma won't take 'em down." Stan could see something else then. An ache of betrayal. 

_Her Ma lied to her, and she took it personally. I guess if you grew up in a family where there are no secrets, you'd be offended by someone not telling the truth._

"An' after that, things changed." Her lip quivered. "But no one ever told me why. I asked. And they said I was too young to understand." She huffed angrily, dropping the hoof pick and banishing her previous signs of sadness. "It's malarkey. I was old enough to understand somethin' was dif'rent. So I was old enough to understand _why_ things were dif'rent." 

"How old were you?"

"Twelve." 

"People think that kids understand less than they do." 

"Yeah." Angie looked away and gave Daisy a friendly pat. "I'm the youngest, so no one trusts me with anything. No matter what I do, they'll always think I'm too young to understand." She flipped her hair back. "I've been pretendin' I know less than I do my whole life, 'cause sometimes folks get scared by smart people, especially smart girls." She sighed. "Sometimes I wonder if that was a good choice."

_I just wanted to figure out if Fidds was the... How did it turn into Angie telling me she's smarter than she lets on?_

"From one youngest child to another," Stan started, "even if ya hadn't kept your real smarts a secret, people would still treat you like that." He shrugged. "You're never gonna be old enough for ‘em." Angie nodded sadly.

"That's what I was afraid of."

"But you're old enough to me." Angie blinked, surprised. "Whatever you wanna talk about, I'll listen." A slow smile began to spread across her face. "I won't always understand. But that don't mean I won't lend an ear or two." Angie walked toward him and wrapped her arms around him in the biggest possible hug she could give.

"Thank you, Stan."

"No problem, Angie." He laughed shortly. "I'm used to listenin' to people smarter than me tell me their problems." Angie broke off the hug slowly. She looked at him with that intense intelligence again.

"Does that have anythin' to do with you sayin' you were a youngest child?" she asked. Stan's mouth went dry.

_She really_ is _too smart for her own good._ Angie stared at him expectantly.

“My older brother is named Stanford. And he’s a genius,” he began.

 

“I just don’t see where Mr. O’Brien gets off on all of this homework,” Stan grumbled, taking a turn much faster than he should have. Angie slid to side, kept from toppling into Stan’s lap only by her seatbelt. 

“What does that mean?”

“What does what mean?”

“Gettin’ off on somethin’. You say it all the time.” Stan winced, well aware of the original meaning of the phrase.

“Um, don’t worry about it.”

“Stan.”

“You can figure out what it means by context, right? Do that.” Angie rolled her eyes. They pulled up in front of the house. Stan frowned, noticing a new vehicle in the driveway. “Whose car is that?” Angie unbuckled and climbed over him to see. She gasped and opened his door, almost falling out. She took off towards the house, shouting. 

“It’s Harper’s! He and Basstian are back!” Stan swallowed nervously. 

Ma and Pa McGucket separated their children into two groups: the older set and the younger set. The younger set was composed of Fiddleford, Lute, and Angie. The older set was composed of Violynn, Harper, and Basstian. 

_And I haven’t met any of the older ones yet._ He got out of the Stanleymobile and grabbed his bookbag and Angie’s, which she had forgotten in her excitement. _I don’t really know much about ‘em. Except that I basically took Harper’s room._ He trudged his way to the house and took a deep breath before opening the door. Voices carried from the kitchen, as did the sound of clinking silverware and cookware. _Why do all the unofficial family meetings happen in the kitchen?_ He slid his shoes off and walked into the kitchen.

“Angie, you forgot your bag,” he said, trying to sound casual and not at all nervous about meeting the two older McGucket brothers. Everyone in the room looked up. Harper’s caramel-colored hair was longer than it was in the picture, and Basstian’s beard was even more extensive, but beyond that, they hadn’t changed much from the family picture on display in the living room. Harper grinned at Stan.

“I’ve been wonderin’ when I would meet my newest younger brother,” he said. He looked Stan up and down. “And I’ve only heard him say five words, but I like him already.” He looked at Basstian. “Anyone who stands up fer my fam’ly is good in my book.” 

“I agree,” Basstian rumbled, in a deeper voice than Stan had heard from any of the other McGuckets.

“Um, thanks?” Stan said, not completely sure how to respond. Basstian stood up and walked over to Stan, holding his hand out. Stan took the offered hand and shook it, but was pulled into a hug.

_Holy shit, he’s tall._

“Welcome to the fam’ly, little brother.”

_They literally just met me and they’re already calling me their brother? These damn McGuckets. They’re too trusting._ Despite himself, he began to tear up a bit. Basstian broke off the hug.

“‘Scuse me,” Stan muttered, wiping a hand across his face. “Got somethin’ in my eye is all.” Basstian chuckled. 

“I hear that you’ve been tryin’ to learn guitar,” he said. 

“Uh, yeah.”

“Ya know, I teach music. I’d be more ‘n happy to give ya some pointers. And when Fidds shows up, he can help ya out, too.”

“That’s what Angie said.”

“Angie’s told us a lot about ya,” Harper said cheerfully. “I’m glad that someone’s lookin’ out fer my baby sister.” He grinned at Angie, in the same way that Lute often did. “She’s a troublemaker, that’s fer sure.” Angie punched him on the shoulder playfully. Stan winked at her.

“It’s okay. I’m a troublemaker, too.”

 

“What did ya get for problem five?” Stan asked, peering over at Angie’s homework.

“I skipped that one. It’s a toughie.” He could barely hear her over the clatter of cookware, but he didn’t mind doing homework in the kitchen. Everyone else was running around getting dinner ready, and the atmosphere was chaotic but cozy. 

“You two are goin’ to have to move yourselves somewhere else soon,” Ma McGucket said briskly, sautéing something in a big skillet. 

“When is Violynn goin’ to get here?” Angie asked her mother. 

“She should be here any minute.”

“Why is everyone visitin’, again?” Stan asked. Angie stared at him.

“Today’s Thanksgiving,” she said.

“…Oh yeah. It is.”

“Did ya forget?”

“Yeah.” 

“So ya didn’t even wonder why we didn’t have any school today?”

“I thought it was a holiday.” 

“It _is_ a holiday.” 

“All right, y’all better move or I’ll move ya myself,” Ma McGucket said loudly. Angie sighed and scooped her book and papers off the table.

“Come on, Stan. She means it.”

“I figured she did, seein’ as how I’ve never seen your ma bluff once.”

“Go on, get! Scoot on outta here!” Ma McGucket said, shooing them into the hall. 

“So, your room?” Stan asked. Angie opened her mouth, but before she could reply, the door opened. Joel began to bark excitedly. He rocketed down the hall toward the redhead standing in the doorway.

“Good job Joel, ya just ruined my chance to sneak in,” Violynn said. A small child appeared from around her legs.

“Doggie!” 

“That’s right, Layla, do ya remember Joel?” Violynn looked up and saw Angie and Stan standing in the hallway, both blatantly staring at her. A smile broke across her face.  
“Angie!” Angie walked toward her older sister and was enveloped in a gentle hug. 

“Hey, ‘Lynn. Is Tim comin’ with the other lil one?”

“She fell asleep in the car, so he’s tryin’ to get her out and carry her without wakin’ her up.” Violynn’s smile became somewhat strained. “Cellory’s been havin’ some trouble sleepin’ lately.”

“Chellary?” Stan asked, confused.

_It’s like celery, but not. Man, and I thought Angie and Fidds had weird names._ Violynn’s attention turned to Stan.

“You must be Stan!” she said happily. She looked down at the child still clinging to her leg. “Layla, you ‘member yer Auntie Angie, right?” Layla nodded. “Well, ya see that big strong fella standin’ in the hallway?” Layla nodded again. “That’s yer Uncle Stan. Go an’ give him a big ole hug, okay?” Layla rushed forward, tackling Stan’s legs with enough force to knock him slightly backward.

“Whoa!” He looked down at the child. She had chestnut brown hair and the same blue eyes her mother and grandmother did, but must have inherited her father’s nose. Stan looked back at Violynn. “‘Uncle’ Stan?” he asked. Violynn nodded.

“From what I understand, yer a part of the family. And as far as my kids are concerned, yer their uncle.” She paused. “Unless ya don’t like that.”

“I- I don’t mind,” Stan said.

_Doesn’t Shermy have a couple of kids already? Yeah, he called home to tell us when they were born. Twins, like just about every Pines is. So I was an uncle before Violynn decided to call me one._ He swallowed. _I can do this. Kids are just like really small adults, right?_ He crouched down to Layla’s eye-height.

“Hey, Layla, right?” She nodded. “Nice to meet ya.” She beamed.

_Shit. What do I do next?_

“Layla,” Angie said, crouching down next her niece, “Stan an’ I have some work to do, but when we’re done, I bet Stan would love to do some colorin’ with ya. Did ya bring yer crayons?” Layla nodded enthusiastically. “All right then. We’ll do some colorin’. But later. Go on back to yer ma fer now.” Layla nodded again and toddled off to Violynn. Angie stood and addressed her older sister. “Stan and I have to finish up our homework, but we’ll join ya when we’re done.” Violynn nodded, still smiling. Angie turned to Stan, who had already stood up again. “All right, let’s finish it up in my room.” 

Stan picked up his school supplies, which he had dropped when Layla tackled him. Angie was already halfway up the stairs by the time he caught up to her.

“So, your sister seems nice.” 

“Yeah.” He frowned at the somewhat icy tone to her voice.

“What’s goin’ on? Is she secretly a jerk?” Angie groaned.

“No, she’s not. She’s perfect.” She stomped her way to her room and yanked open the door, slamming it against the wall.

“Keep it down!” someone shouted from the kitchen.

“Sorry!” Angie yelled back, but she very obviously wasn’t. She dropped her book and papers on her bed and sat down heavily. “And it’s so stereotypical of me to be jealous of my older sister, but how could I not?” She sighed and looked away. “She’s beautiful, she’s brilliant, she’s got a lovin’ husband and two gorgeous children. She’s got so much talent.” 

“So do you,” Stan said, sitting next to her. 

“She’s got way more than me, though.”

“Angie…”

“She never had issues in school. She graduated high school _and_ college early, and got a job with a pharmaceutical company right away. She’s a botanist, she helps develop new drugs based off of plants. Doin’ science like that, makin’ a difference, that’s the dream.” Angie sighed again. “Violynn has everything. Everything that I don’t.”

“Angie, what the actual fuck are you talkin’ about?” Angie looked at him, doubt and confusion in her eyes. “Not succeedin’ in school doesn’t mean you’re not smart or successful. You shouldn’t judge yourself based upon what others do, especially if they’re your older siblings.” He put an arm around her shoulders. “You’re a different person than she is, so you’ll end up doin’ different things. But that don’t make those things any worse than hers.” Angie looked down and nodded. 

“That’s some really great advice, Stan.”

“Really?”

_Man, I was just spitballing. But I guess it made sense._

“Yeah.” She looked back at him, a mischievous twinkle in her eye. “You should try followin’ it sometime.” Stan gaped.

“Did you just hustle me, Gucket?” She laughed. “Holy shit, you _did_. You fooled me. You fooled me good.” He shook his head. “Damn. I’m really rubbin’ off on ya. Hustlin’ me. Next thing, you’ll be stealin’.”

“I wouldn’t go that far,” Angie hedged. “But you’ve got some issues, an’ no matter what I say, none of it’ll sink in. I can’t get through to ya. So I was thinkin’ that maybe _you_ could.” 

“Damn, Angie, that was awful sly of ya.” He looked down. “Fuck, you’re right. Or… _I’m_ right? Either way, I just got my ass handed to me.”

“Did it work?” Stan sighed.

“Maybe. We’ll have to wait and see if it sinks through my thick skull.” He looked back at her. Laughter was dancing across her face, even though she’d stopped vocalizing it. “There’s no fucking way that you were fakin’ it completely.” The laughter vanished. After a brief moment, she nodded.

“Yeah, I’m a bit jealous of my big sis. It’s hard not to be. She really _does_ have everythin’, includin’ the prettiest singin’ voice. I sound more like Scout.”

“Harper’s frog?”

“Yeah.”

“I don’t believe you.”

“It’s true. But my singin’ voice don’t really matter, an’ neither does my jealousy. ‘Cause at the end of the day, it don’t destroy my relationship with my sister.”

“Damn, that’s cold. Did ya have to stomp on the relationship I have with my brother?”

“What relationship?”

“Jesus fucking Christ, Angie, you’re not pulling _any_ punches.”

“It’s the truth.” She shrugged. “I love my sister, so I told her ‘bout my feelings. And she understood. Comin’ clean is what saves relationships. Tellin’ the truth keeps friendships goin’ strong.” She smiled at Stan. “An’ I care enough ‘bout my friendship with you to be honest. Even if it hurts at first.”

“Yeah, it does hurt a bit.” Angie leaned her head against his shoulder.

“Would me doin’ the dishes tonight instead of you make ya feel a bit better?”

“It might.” 

 

The rest of his family was sitting in the living room, chatting, having finished a very large meal. But Fiddleford was standing in the hallway outside Stan’s room, steeling himself for what he was about to do.

_I don’t want to intrude on Stan’s privacy._ He grimaced. _But I_ have _to know. If Stan and Ford are really related, there must be a reason that they both ended up livin’ with me. I can’t let two brothers be estranged like this._ He opened the door slowly. 

Stan kept the room as clean as Harper did, so it was a mess. Fiddleford’s guitar was sitting in the corner, a bunch of sheet music scattered on the floor nearby, mostly for various rock and roll songs. Stan’s bookbag had been obviously dropped carelessly at the foot of the bed, and a few textbooks had fallen out onto the floor. The duffel bag Stan had brought with him was tucked away neatly next to the dresser, the only thing in the room that seemed organized. Fidds took a few cautious steps inside, slightly worried that Stan would appear at any moment.

_All right, if I was proof that Stan has a brother, where would I be?_ Fidds scanned the room. _His duffel bag, maybe?_ He approached the bag, but before he could open it, he caught a glimpse of a picture frame on the dresser, next to a magic 8-ball. Fidds picked it up. His mouth went dry. _That’s Stanford, all right._

“I gotta admit, I’m kinda relieved that you decided to snoop,” a voice said from behind him. Fiddleford spun around. Stan was in the doorway, leaning against the door frame. He seemed slightly miffed, but not nearly as upset as Fidds had expected him to be.

“What? Why?” he asked, putting the picture frame back on the dresser.

“Because I did some snoopin’ of my own.” He nodded at Fidds. “On you.” Fiddleford’s heart stopped.

“Why?”

“Your parents told me that one of ya was...” Stan seemed to be struggling to find an appropriate word. “…different.” Fiddleford swallowed.

“Really?”

“Yeah. And like I said, I did some nosin’ around and realized that there weren’t any pictures of ya in the house from when you were a kid.” Stan shrugged. “So I asked Angie what that was about.”

“What did she say?”

“That Sally lied to her about the reason why. But she mentioned that ya used to have long hair, and that things changed after ya cut it.” Stan took a step inside and closed the door. He sat down on his bed. Fidds took a seat next to him. “Fidds, did ya used to be a girl?” Fidds took a deep breath.

“I don’t think I was ever a girl,” he began cautiously. “But Ma and Pa thought so. They named me Viola. Viola Phoebe.”

“You traded in a normal-soundin’ name for ‘Fiddleford Hadron’?” 

“Well, they came up with two names, ya know. One for a girl, one for a boy. An’ when I told ‘em I was actually a boy all along, they said that Fiddleford was the name they chose.” He made an expression akin to someone eating something sour. “But the middle name they chose was Beau. I didn’t like that. So I chose my own middle name.” He shrugged. “Ma an’ Pa were really supportive. They said they loved me, and that they would work past their own personal beliefs and feelings to make sure they continued to be good parents.”

“That’s a damn sight better than what my folks did.”

“Are you…?”

“No, but my twin brother Stanford’s always wanted a boyfriend,” Stan said, gesturing toward the picture on the dresser. “And sophomore year, he finally got one. My old man caught them together and, well, let’s just say it wasn’t pretty.”

“The person in yer picture, he’s yer twin?”

“Yeah. Runs in the family.” Stan looked over at the picture somewhat wistfully. “I wish I could say that you’re the first person I’ve told, but Lute and Angie are fuckin’ detectives, man.” 

“They don’t understand the concept of waitin’, or bein’ polite, or bein’ patient.”

“Well, neither do you, apparently,” Stan said with a grin.

“You don’t, either,” Fiddleford said teasingly. “Must be a McGucket trait.” Stan’s grin got wider.

“Must be.” 

“Stan, get in here, yer missin’ out on the game!” Lute shouted from the living room. Stan gave Fiddleford a heavy pat on the back.

“I’m comin’!” he shouted, exiting his room. He poked his head back in quickly. “Fidds,” he said in a quiet voice, “thank you for trustin’ me.”

“Thanks for trustin’ _me_.”

“Come on, Stan!”

“Keep it down, Lute, I’m on my way!” 

After Stan had left, Fidds looked at the picture on the dresser again.

_Stanford’s always wanted a boyfriend, huh?_

He began to smile.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For anyone who feels like both Fidds and Stan should have been more upset about the mutual breaking of trust between them, well, later on we'll find out that Ma McGucket was right. That they should have been allowed to come clean on their own.  
> And if you're upset that we didn't get to spend much time with the older McGuckets, don't worry, because the next three chapters take place during the winter holiday break. There'll be plenty of material with Violynn, Harper, and Basstian, as well as an estranged six-fingered twin brother.  
> As always, if you have any questions or comments, leave them below or message me at thelastspeecher.tumblr.com.


	9. Am I So Different

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> How then **am I so different** from the first men through this way? – Stan Rogers, “Northwest Passage”

Fiddleford's truck pulled up in front of the house. It was dark outside, but he managed to successfully park without bumping the barely visible car already in the driveway. Ford couldn't make out many details beyond it being red.

"Whose car is that?"

"The person my family took in. I told ya 'bout him."

"Something about it seems familiar." Fiddleford made a noncommittal noise before speaking.

"It's cold out here, let's just get inside, okay?"

"Right." Fiddleford opened the front door. Ford followed him in.

"Fidds? Is that you?" a southern female voice called.

"Yessir!" he replied. Fiddleford pointed at a small basket next to the door. "Put yer shoes in there, please."

"Ah, so this is one of _those_ houses." Fiddleford snorted.

"We're in the kitchen!" the same voice from before shouted.

"Okay!" Fiddleford called back. Ford frowned at the shoe basket. There were two pairs there. One was a nice pair of black winter shoes, the other was a pair of beatup tennis shoes he recognized. But he couldn't quite place where he knew them from. The conversation from the kitchen continued, carrying to the front door.

"So, what did ya get fer x?" 

"Three." 

_Where do I know that voice from?_

"Three? Let me see yer work." There was a pause. "Ya forgot to carry the one."

"Ah, shit, really? I told ya right at the start, I'm not good at this." 

_I definitely know that voice. But I can't match the voice to a name. If I could hear it without a southern accent, maybe..._

"Hey, yer doin' better than ya thought ya would. Ya thought ya were goin' to fail, ‘member? You've got a B right now!"

"Yeah, a B-."

"Still better 'n an F." Fiddleford gestured for Ford to follow him. They walked into the kitchen. Ford's heart plummeted. He recognized Angie immediately. She looked just like she did in the pictures Fiddleford had of his family. Unfortunately, he also recognized the person sitting next to her at the kitchen table. At the sound of footsteps, Angie looked up, beaming. "Ma and Pa 're out right now, but they should be back... soon..." She trailed off, catching sight of Ford. Stan looked at her, clearly wondering why she had finished her sentence like that. He then turned his gaze to what she was staring at: Ford.

"You son of a bitch," he snarled, getting up from the table with enough force to slam his chair into the wall behind it. He stomped over to Ford and punched him, knocking his brother to the ground.

"Stan!" Angie shouted, distressed. 

"What the hell are ya doin' here, huh?" he roared, his original New Jersey accent now layered with a slight southern one. He raised his fist again. "Am I never gonna get out of your damn shadow?"

"Stan. Stop." A small, delicate hand wrapped around Stan's wrist. He lowered his fist. 

_Since when does he listen to what someone else tells him?_

"I was invited," Ford replied as Fiddleford helped him to his feet.

"Invited? _You're_ Fidds' roommate?" 

_The way he said Fiddleford’s name. Like they’re…close._ Ford looked at Angie, who was standing slightly behind Stan, staring at Ford unabashedly.

“Hello, I’m Stanford Pines, but I also go by Ford.” Ford held out a hand for her to shake. Angie attempted to move forward, but was blocked by Stan, who was holding an arm in front of her protectively. She pushed his arm away and shook Ford's hand.

"Angie. Angie McGucket." Her eyebrows rose as she noticed the extra finger. "Hmm, polydactyly. Stan, ya didn’t mention yer brother was a polydactyl.”

" _Twin_ brother," Stan spat. Angie's eyes widened. 

"Really?”

"Stan, what are _you_ doing here?" Ford demanded.

"I live here."

"What?"

"Ford, I told ya 'bout him."

"No you didn't! You said that the person your parents picked up in New Jersey because his parents kicked him out would be here. You didn't say anything about Stan." The other people in the kitchen stared at him. He realized what he just said. "Oh, god." Stan glared at Ford. Angie put a gentle hand on his shoulder.

"Let's get back to studyin', okay?"

"...Okay." Stan sat back at the table with her. She handed him a pencil.

"We were on numb'r twelve. Try again." Unable to help himself, Ford walked over to the table, peering at what Stan and Angie had been working on.

"Is that algebra?" Stan clenched the pencil so hard that it snapped in two.

"Precalc," he said in a tight, barely controlled voice. Ford raised his eyebrows, recognizing the book they were doing practice problems from.

"Is that a high school textbook? What are you doing with a high school textbook?" 

"Studying," Stan growled. 

"For a high school precalc course?" He wasn't able to keep the amusement out of his voice. Stan turned red and slammed the book closed, grabbed it off the table, and stormed out.

"Stan!" Angie said, picking up the rest of the items and following him. She glared at Ford as she left.

"Ford, that was not cool," Fiddleford said in a low voice.

"What? Stan shouldn't be in a high school course. He already graduated."

"No, he didn't." Ford frowned. 

"I mean, I knew he wasn't at graduation, but..."

"When Ma and Pa found out, they insisted he finish his high school education. He's been really sensitive about repeatin' his senior year. Ya need to back off."

"Why are you so concerned?"

"Stan may be yer brother, but he's basic'ly mine, too. He's been livin' with me and my folks since May."

"I've known him his entire life."

"Listen. As far as my family is concerned, he's one of us. If ya mistreat him, ya won't be allowed to stay here. So. Leave him be." Fiddleford took a deep breath. He abruptly changed tone. "Anyways, let me show ya where you'll be sleepin'."

 

"Stanford? Dinner's ready." Ford was awoken from his post-finals nap by Fiddleford knocking on the guest room door.

"Mmkay, I'll be there in a minute." He stretched and got up. The second he opened the door, he could hear voices conversing in the kitchen. 

_Is there no privacy in this house? Why can you hear everything everyone says?_ He made his way to the kitchen, and was surprised anew at the sight of Stan. Stan was helping set the table, chatting with Mrs. McGucket as he did so. Among the near carbon-copy McGuckets, he stuck out like a sore thumb. Ford cleared his throat. Everyone looked up. Stan's relaxed expression quickly morphed into one of disgust. 

"Howdy, Stanford," Mrs. McGucket said. She looked at her youngest child. "Ya were right, Angie. They do look a lot alike."

"Y'all are some to talk," Stan said, rolling his eyes. 

_Y'all?_

"Anyways, pop a squat, Ford," Mr. McGucket said. Ford sat next to Fiddleford at the table. Angie sat on the other side of Fiddleford, and Stan sat next to her. He didn't say anything to Ford during dinner. Neither did Angie. 

"I told ya that messin' with Stan would make my siblings unhappy," Fiddleford whispered to him, picking up on the lack of conversation being directed his way.

"May I please be excused?" Ford whipped his head around. Stan had finished his dinner and was politely waiting before he got up. Ford's jaw dropped.

"Yes, you may," Mrs. McGucket replied. Stan got up and put his dishes on the counter next to the sink. Ford knew he was gaping still, but he couldn't help it.

"May I also be excused?" Angie asked.

"Yes, Angie. Remember, yer doin' dishes tonight."

"Yes, Ma." 

"Somethin' wrong, Stanford?" Mrs. McGucket asked as Angie got up. "Ya got a look like a carp in a catfish tank."

"I'm just... surprised at how polite Stan is," Ford replied, deciding to be honest right off the bat.

"Folks in this house have manners, we make sure of that," Mrs. McGucket said.

_Apparently._

 

“Stan, I’m sorry,” Fiddleford said. He and his not-quite-adopted-brother were in the hallway outside Stan’s room. Angie was reading a book in the living room, and Ford was chatting with Ma and Pa McGucket in the kitchen. 

“You should be.” Stan crossed his arms. “Ya didn’t warn him, and ya didn’t warn _me_.”

"I kept droppin’ hints. I thought that Ford would've figured it out!” Stan scoffed.

“Please. My brother’s a know-it-all genius, but he’s also an idiot. He can connect dots that Stephen Hawking couldn’t. But only if ya tell him to connect them. He’s kinda like Angie in that way.”

“Well, I just met him this semester. I haven’t gotten to know him as well as I’d like.” Stan stared at Ford.

“What the hell does _that_ mean?”

“It means what it means.” Stan shook his head.

“Nuh-uh. I know you Fiddleford Hadron McGucket. You _do_ want to get to know Ford, but not to be friends.” Fiddleford turned red. “Holy shit, I was right. You want to date my twin brother? What the fuck is wrong with you?”

“It ain’t a ‘want’ situation no more,” Fiddleford mumbled. Stan dropped his arms from their crossed position. 

“You’re dating?” Fiddleford nodded. Stan clapped a hand to his head. “My brothers are dating. Motherfucker!”

“Stan, I’m sorry I didn’t tell ya all this. I wanted it to be a surprise.” Stan laughed, but the laugh was devoid of happiness.

“It sure as hell was a surprise.”

“I meant a good one! I was thinkin’ that you and yer brother would reunite, and it’d be an amazin’ moment fer everyone.”

"Well, ya thought wrong, didn't ya?" Stan thundered. Fidds winced. "Maybe if ya had bothered to, I don't know, talk to me about it, we wouldn't be in this situation. I wouldn't feel so fuckin’ betrayed."

"I'm sorry."

"I know you're sorry. But you've been sneaking around for months, probably, instead of askin’ me or tellin’ me." Stan looked at Fidds. His expression was one of complete heartbreak and betrayal. "The minute you decided that Ford would visit, you should have told me."

"I know."

"How can I trust you anymore? You go around my back, you bring my brother who watched me get kicked out of the house, all without tellin’ me anything. I thought this family actually talked. But instead, you snooped around."

"Hey, my younger siblings did snoopin’, too."

"Lute and Angie were upfront about it, and about their reasons for it. They were worried about _me_. You were worried about _yourself_."

"Stan, that ain't true!"

"You're datin’ my twin brother!" Stan roared. 

"Stanley Stanford Pines!" Fidds and Stan froze at the sound of Pa McGucket's voice. He was standing in front of the two of them, clearly furious. "We don't yell in this house, you know that."

"Fiddleford-"

"I don't care what Fiddleford did. No one raises their voice here." Stan glowered.

"He did what?!" Ma McGucket said loudly from the kitchen. She marched out of the room and stood next to her husband. "Stanley, did you assault our guest?"

"He deserved it."

"Go to yer room. Cool off."

"I ain’t a toddler throwing a tantrum. Ya can't put me in time out."

"You live under our roof. You will follow our rules and do what we tell ya to do." 

"Fine," Stan snarled. He stomped to his room and slammed the door shut with enough force that something fell down with a clatter.

 

There was a timid knock on Stan's door.

"Who is it?" Stan grumbled, lying face down on his bed.

"Angie." Stan sighed.

"Come in." The door opened and closed quietly. He couldn't hear her footsteps, but he felt when she took a seat on the edge of his bed. "How grounded am I?" he asked without lifting his head.

"What, on a scale of one to ten?"

"Yeah, sure, whatever."

"Zero." Stan rolled over to stare at Angie in surprise.

"What?"

"Ma and Pa are citin’ 'extenuatin’ circumstances' and not groundin’ ya." Stan sat up with a grunt.

"And what exactly are these circumstances?"

"Bein’ reunited with an estranged twin brother."

"Ah." Angie was silent for a moment.

"Fidds said that I broke your trust, when I asked ya questions about yer family."

"Angie, you've been upfront with me since day one. I don't give a shit. You didn't sneak around looking for clues. Neither did Lute. Fidds is the only one who did that."

"His heart was in the right place."

"I know. But that, combined with the stunt he's just pulled, it makes me wonder if I should trust him."

"You should."

"That's not your call to make." Angie nodded silently.

"You're right," she said in a very small voice.

"Angie, I'm not angry at you. I'm angry at your brother." She nodded for the second time and fiddled with the comforter anxiously. "Are you scared of me again?" She ducked her head instead of replying. "Seriously, don't be."

"I don't like it when ya yell." Stan wrapped an arm around her and pulled her closely into a tight hug.

"I know. I would never yell at you. And I didn't mean to yell at Fidds. It just sort of slipped out."

"How can yellin’ slip out?"

"If you grew up in my house, you'd understand." Angie leaned her head against his shoulder.

" _This_ is your house now." Stan smiled half-heartedly.

"Yeah." They sat in silence for about five minutes, neither one doing anything. 

"Ma wants ya to have a conversation with yer twin and Fidds tomorrow," Angie said finally.

"Why?" 

"All three of ya need to fix what's going on. Ma and Pa are really upset with all of this, and they don't want so much negativity in the house. And anyways, it's about time you and your twin ironed things out." She sighed. “I’m s’posed to go tell Ford. But I don’t really like him.”

“Is it because of me that ya don’t like him?” 

“…Maybe.” Stan chuckled.

“I like your style, Gucket.” He could have been imagining it, but for a split second, it looked like Angie blushed slightly at the compliment.

“Thanks.” She groaned and slid out of the hug. “But now I gotta go an’ be a good hostess.”

“Good night, Angie.”

“Good night, Stan.”

 

Ford was in the kitchen alone, leaning against a wall and paging through one of his physics textbooks when Angie walked in. 

“Hello, Angie.” Angie nodded at him and made a beeline straight for the sink. She began to busy herself with doing the dishes. 

"It’s a bit late, but ya seem pretty chipper.”

“I tend to have some issues falling asleep.”

“Gimme a mo’, I'll get ya some benadryl. Or if ya want I can fix ya up some warm milk."

"Oh, no need for either one, thank you, though." Angie nodded again, continuing to wash the dishes silently. "I thought you hated me. Why are you being considerate?"

"Hate's a strong word," she said. "And my parents raised me right. Don't matter whether I like someone or not. If they're a guest, I treat 'em with kindness."

"Oh." 

"Stop hoverin' 'round like a skeeter. Won't do yer legs any good."

"Um, okay." Ford took a seat at the table.

 _Is it a McGucket family trait? The ability to issue commands so well? Or is it a Pines family trait to follow them without question?_

"So, Fidds tells me you're a bright kid," he said, uncomfortable with the silence. Angie shrugged. "You like science, right? Fidds mentioned that you've been doing some sort of side project."

"With the forest nearby, yes. I'm writin' down all the plants, animals, and fungi I see in there."

"So you like the environmental sciences?"

"I've always been good at biology."

"Biology?"

"Yes. Even when I was havin' issues in school, I still got A's in that. Growin' up on a farm helps ya with that a bit, I s'pose. Ya already know how a lot of animals and plants work." A small smile played around her lips. "School helped fill in the blank spaces, though. Give reasons for why changin' the crops every other season makes 'em better. Why the cattle favor some grass over others. Why the hens don't lay if there're foxes 'round."

"What colleges are you looking at?"

"I'm focusin' on finishin' this semester 'fore I look at schools."

"Ah." Angie unplugged the sink and let it drain. "Are your parents mad at Fiddleford?"

"They’re disappointed in how he handled things.” She began to rinse out the sink. “Tomorrow, they want you an’ Stan an’ Fidds to sit down and have a nice long chat.” She looked over at Ford. “Without any phys’cal altercations or yellin’.”

“I can promise I won’t do either, but I can’t say the same about Stan.” Angie shrugged.

“I think you’ll be surprised to see how much Stan has changed.” She quirked a half-smile that Ford recognized as the same one Fiddleford sometimes made. “An’ even though he’s been livin’ with us fer months, he’s still surprised ‘bout my parents. They didn’t ground him, ya know.”

“Really?”

“Nope.”

"My parents would have been furious. At the very least, my dad would have." Angie dried her hands on a gingham dishtowel. 

“I ain’t heard much ‘bout yer dad, but what little I’ve heard makes me not like him.”

“You have good instincts.” 

“Not as good as Stan’s,” she replied with a shrug. She hung the dishtowel on the handle of the stove and left the kitchen.

“G’night, Stanford.”

"Good night."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the first of three chapters that will take place during winter break. I hope that the reunion of the Stans lived up to everyone's expectations. Don't you worry, they'll work things out in the next chapter. But I'm not sure when it will go up, because like Fidds and Ford, I'm a college student, and school will be starting up for me again soon.  
> If anyone's wondering why Ford didn't recognize Stan's shoes, car, or voice, keep in mind that he most definitely was _not_ expecting to see Stan at his boyfriend's house.  
>  Oh, and a shout-out to Agent-Jaselin for drawing an amazing little fanart of a scene from Chapter 6. Few things make me as happy as something I've written inspiring fanart. I simply adore it.  
> As always, if you have questions or comments, leave them below or message me at thelastspeecher.tumblr.com.


	10. The Real Truth About Me

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gathered in my loose ends, switched off the light/And down there in the dark I could see **the real truth about me** /As clear as day – The Mountain Goats, “You or Your Memory”

"Okay, here's the plan," Mrs. McGucket said. After breakfast, she had herded Stan, Ford, and Fiddleford into the living room. Stan was sitting in an armchair, refusing to be on the couch next to his twin. Fiddleford's knee bounced nervously. "Y'all are going to work this out. Come clean with each other and get rid of this bad blood." Unsure how to ask a question, Ford raised his hand. Stan snorted in amusement. Mrs. McGucket nodded at him. "Go ahead, Stanford."

"No offense, ma'am, but I'm not sure how effective this will be."

"McGuckets have been airing grievances like this for generations," Mrs. McGucket replied. "The method works. We have a neutral party standing by to moderate things if need be." Basstian, who was sitting in the other armchair, winked. 

"When did you get in?" Stan asked.

"‘Bout 3am." He tilted the armchair and leaned back. He closed his eyes. "If there's any yelling, it should keep me up, so don't hold back."

"And that includes you, Stanford," Mrs. McGucket said knowingly.

"Uh, what?" Ford asked.

"It was brought to my attention that you may not have responded to seeing Stan because you were trying to be a good guest." 

"Oh."

"It was also brought to my attention that you were rude to Stan." Ford looked over at Stan.

"Hey, I didn't say nothin’," Stan said.

"Angie told me that you made fun of Stan for being in a high school class," Ma McGucket supplied. 

"I didn't mean to!" Ford protested.

"It don't matter. That's why we've got Basstian standing by. He'll keep all of y'all in track." She scanned the room. "Do you understand?" 

"Yes, Ma," Fiddleford said, the number of times his knee bounced increasing. Stan grunted. Ford nodded. 

"All right then." She frowned at the couch. "Angie, yer not allowed to stay." Angie crawled out from behind the floral print sofa. Ford's eyes widened. He turned to Fidds.

"Just how small is your sister?"

"It's bigger back there than it looks," Angie said, brushing herself off. "Stan hid back there durin’ hide and go seek during Thanksgiving." 

"Didn't work," Stan grunted. "Layla found me right away." 

"Speaking of Layla, Violynn and her family should get here soon." Mrs. McGucket looked at Angie. "Go and make sure the rooms are ready." Angie groaned, but did as she was told. She poked Basstian on the way out of the room. He swatted her hand away.

"I'm up," he mumbled. Mrs. McGucket took in the room one last time.

"All right. Start." 

 

Stan wasn't happy about any of this. He hadn't gotten to know Basstian very well. The middle McGucket was a bit of a lone wolf, which was probably why Ma McGucket had chosen him to moderate this discussion. He glanced over at Fiddleford, who was clearly nervous to the point of near-mutism. 

_Fidds is bouncing his knee so hard it'll fall off._ Stan finally cleared his throat. 

"I'm sorry, Fidds. I was, uh, damn, what's the word?"

"Born in New Jersey," Basstian offered, his eyes still closed.

"That's four words, not what I was looking for, and you're not supposed to say things." 

"It's true though." Stan groaned.

"Whatever. It starts with an H. Hip-something."

"Hypocrite?" Fidds offered. Stan nodded.

"Yeah. That's the word. I was a hypocrite. I snooped on you and got pissed when you did the same thing to me." He sighed. "I shoulda listened to your ma."

"I should've listened to her, too. And the second I found out Ford was your twin, I should've told ya. I'm sorry," Fiddleford said. 

"It's okay, brother." Fiddleford smiled weakly. "We both fucked up." Basstian grunted at the swear, but didn't comment. 

"Yeah." Fiddleford's knee continued to bounce, but at a slightly slower speed. He looked over at Ford nervously.

"That it?" Basstian rumbled. Stan shrugged. 

"I'm good. I might not completely trust you for a while, but I ain't gonna punch you or something." Fidds nodded. 

"I accept that. I understand." 

"All right, Fidds. Looks like you're free to go." At Basstian's dismissal, Fiddleford bolted out of the room. Basstian chuckled. "He ain't a big fan of awkward situations."

"I can tell," Ford said mildly. He looked at Stan. "Why did you call Fiddleford your brother?" Stan shrugged.

“‘Cause he is.”

“No, he isn’t. _I_ am,” Ford said firmly.

“Are you?” Ford’s eyes widened, but only briefly. His face quickly settled into an expression Stan could only describe as “pissed off”.

“Maybe I’m not. I mean, if I really _was_ your brother, you wouldn’t have ruined my chance to go to West Coast Tech!” Stan glared at Ford.

“I didn’t do shit!” Ford laughed bitterly.

“You’re right! You don’t do anything, you never have. All you’ve ever done is mooch off of me. And the second that it looked like you wouldn’t be able to do that anymore, you decided to sabotage my chances at going to a good school. Now I’m at one of the shittiest schools in the nation, maybe the world! The school’s claim to fame is the fact that its dorms are mostly bug-free. _Mostly_.” Stan crossed his arms and looked away.

“I ain’t my fault you had your heart set on one school. Any other school woulda loved to have you. You’re not at Backupsmore because of me. You’re there because of you.” Ford scoffed in disbelief.

“That doesn’t make any sense! If you hadn’t broken my experiment-”

“I didn’t break it!” Stan shouted. 

“Whether you broke it or not, you should have told me!” Ford yelled back. Basstian cleared his throat.

“I know I said not to hold back with the yellin’, but I didn’t realize both of ya had inhuman vocal cords. I’m not sure the neighbors two miles away would want to hear yer conversation. So maybe tone it down just a tad,” Basstian said calmly. 

“Sorry,” Stan and Ford muttered in sync.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Ford asked in a quieter voice. “If you had told me immediately, maybe I could have fixed it.” Stan was silent for a long time.

“Remember when we were ten, and we got paint on Shermy’s favorite shirt?” he said at long last. Ford blinked, surprised by the apparent change in topic.

“Yes.”

“We didn’t tell him because we didn’t want our older brother to be mad at us. We didn’t want our older brother to know we fucked up.” Stan swallowed. “And the two of us weren’t even that close to Shermy.”

“You thought I would be mad?”

“And I was right.”

“Stan…”

“But goin’ back to what I said earlier,” Stan said abruptly, quickly brushing away a few tears before they could fall. “Goin’ to that shitty-ass school, that’s you punishing yourself.”

“W-what?”

“You’re an all or nothing kind of person. If ya can’t get the best, ya decide that it means you deserve the worst. You don’t wanna settle, or compromise, or take second place. I didn’t make you go to Backupsmore. You went there because you decided it was the only place you were good enough for. Even though Ivy Leagues were practically breakin’ down the door to get to you. You think you’re only worth somethin’ because you’re smart. And if ya ain’t smart enough for something, you think you’re worth nothin’.”

“I-” Ford stopped himself, unsure of what to say. Stan continued to speak. 

“And you’re wrong. I _have_ done somethin’. I protected my nerdy twin brother for 17 years. When my parents kicked me out, I lived on the streets for months. And when I came here, I-” He snorted. “-I became a fucking farmhand, of all things.”

“You also picked up a southern accent.” Stan snorted again.

“Yeah, I did. When you’ve been around these people long enough, it’s tough to not talk like ‘em.” Ford smiled half-heartedly.

“I can assume.” He cleared his throat. “Stanley, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have called you a mooch. I mean, it’s not like you had many options. Neither of us did, to be quite frank. Mom and Pops gave us set roles fairly early on in life. And we decided to follow those roles, instead of trying something else. Maybe if we had challenged each other more, instead of just letting past grievances and hurt feelings slide, we would have had a healthier relationship. Maybe we wouldn’t be in this situation.” 

“It ain’t that bad of a situation to be in, though.”

“Stan, you were kicked out of the house.”

“And I ended up in a new one. One that’s _way_ better.” Stan spread his arms to gesture to the entirety of the snug, comfortable farmhouse he now lived in.

“It smells like manure,” Ford said.

“Only when people track it in,” Stan replied. Ford sighed.

“Don’t- don’t you ever miss home?” Ford asked quietly. Stan tilted his head.

“Sometimes. Sometimes I miss the ocean, or the saltwater taffy place on the boardwalk, or The Juke Joint. Sometimes I miss lookin’ through the pawnshop inventory unsupervised, or tellin’ Mom what she should say to her clients. Sometimes I miss you, or Mom, and a couple times, I’ve even missed Pops.” 

“How can you miss Pops?” Stan shifted in his chair uncomfortably. 

“I ain’t a psychic. Or a psychologist. I don’t know why I sometimes miss him. All I know is that I do.” He looked directly in Ford’s eyes. “But even though I miss him, and Mom, and you, I’m happy here. Pops, he never made me feel like I was worth anythin’.” His voice broke. “Do ya have any clue how hard the McGuckets have worked to fix that?” Basstian adjusted his position in the other armchair. The twins looked up at the sound, but Basstian’s eyes were still closed. He appeared to be asleep.

 _Good. These McGuckets are bleeding hearts. I don’t want to deal with the fallout of them finding out exactly how shitty home was for me._ Stan glanced at his twin, someone with similar, but at the same time drastically different issues. _For us. We both got fucked over big time._

“I have to admit, Stan, I’m slightly envious that you’ve found such a welcoming and loving environment,” Ford said softly. He was keeping his face carefully blank, but Stan could tell that he was more than just “slightly” jealous. 

“You’re here now, too. Enjoy it. Before Fiddleford dumps you for someone with less baggage.” Ford gaped. “Relax, Sixer, I’m joking. Fidds is pretty obviously heads-over-heels for ya.” He shrugged. “Not sure why. I mean, there’ve got to be some people at that shitty school that aren’t related to the person his family took in.” Ford rolled his eyes.

“Very funny.” At the sound of wheels crunching on the gravel in the driveway, they both looked at the front door. Angie came running down the stairs, closely followed by Joel. She sprinted outside, yelling at the top of her lungs.

“Lute! Lute, yer back!” The door slammed shut behind her. Stan stood up.

“Whattaya say, Sixer? Wanna meet the others?” Ford stood as well.

“If they put up with you, they must be phenomenal. So, yes.” Stan punched Ford jokingly on the arm.

“Just don’t call the youngest son ‘Luke’. He doesn’t like that.” 

“Why would I call him that? That’s far too normal of a name for a McGucket.” 

Stan laughed. 

 

“Ma, the popcorn for the tree ain’t s’posed to have salt,” Violynn said, sitting at the kitchen table, bouncing her youngest child on one knee.

“This ain’t fer the tree,” Ma McGucket replied, shaking the pot full of popcorn kernels. “It’s fer all of y’all.” Stan looked over at Harper, who shrugged. Harper and Lute had arrived in the same vehicle, with Violynn coming shortly after. Violynn’s husband, Tim, whom Stan was starting to wonder if he would ever see, was getting a tree with Basstian and Pa McGucket. “Anyways, decoratin’ is tomorrow.”

“Why are ya makin’ popcorn?” Angie asked. She was leaning against the wall near Stan and Harper, a book in hand.

“Fer eatin’.” 

“Oh.”

“Or did ya forget the tradition?” Ma McGucket asked teasingly. Stan frowned, confused.

“The night before we decorate the tree,” Lute explained, “us kids watch movies on television.”

“What movies?” Stan asked.

“Whatever’s on,” Harper said with a shrug. 

“But no matter what we watch, nowadays Harper critiques the special effects,” Angie muttered, opening her book and reading again. 

“What- they’re all terrible! What do ya expect me to do?”

“Let some things slide?” Violynn suggested. Lute, sitting next to her, holding Layla, nodded in agreement. 

“They’re movies, Harper. Let it go.” Harper scoffed.

“Ford, yer welcome to join us if ya want,” Fiddleford said.

“Is Stan going to?” Ford asked.

“I literally _just_ found out about it,” Stan protested.

“Will you, though?” At Ford’s question, Angie looked up from her book hopefully.

“Eh, might as well.” Angie grinned. “So will you?” Stan asked.

“I don’t think so,” Ford said hesitantly.

“What?” Harper asked. “Why not?”

“I just- I don’t really know any of you that well. Other than Stan, I suppose.” 

“It’s fine if ya don’t want to,” Ma McGucket said kindly. 

“The movies that’re on better not be any of those sappy romances,” Harper grumbled. 

“Are you not a fan of romances?” Ford asked.

“He ain’t a fan of romance in general,” Ma McGucket said. “He an’ Angie are cut from the same cloth.”

“What do you mean?” Ford asked.

“Angie and Harper both don’t want to ever get married,” Fiddleford explained.

“An’ I keep tellin’ ya the same thing I’ve been sayin’ since ya decided to never be married.” Ma McGucket nodded in Angie’s direction. “An’ it’s the same thing I tell yer sister. Ya can’t make a blanket statement like that.”

“Sure I can,” Harper said snippily.

“Who knows how well it’ll hold up in the long run, though? One day, ya might meet someone that makes ya change yer mind.” Out of the corner of his eye, Stan saw Angie glance over in his direction for a split second. He turned his head to look at her, but she was reading her book again, holding it over her face. The book, some sort of guide to frogs and toads native to Arkansas, didn’t completely cover the red flush that was beginning to spread across her features.

_What’s that about?_

“Ain’t goin’ to happen, Ma,” Harper said determinedly. “But you’ve got five other kids. You’ll get plenty of grandchildren.” Ma McGucket tutted and turned down the heat on the stove so the popcorn wouldn’t burn.

“I ain’t worried ‘bout havin’ grandkids. I just want my sons and daughters to be happy.”

“Ya don’t need a significant other to be happy,” Angie said quietly. Ma McGucket looked in her direction.

“Sweet sarsaparilla, Angie, yer redder ‘n a tomato what’s been on the vine too long. Did I embarrass ya?”

“In front of who?” Stan asked teasingly.

“Whom,” Ford corrected him. Stan punched his twin. 

“Is it me embarrassin’ ya in front of Ford? ‘Cause I think he prefers menfolk over womenfolk.”

“Ma!” Fiddleford protested. 

“‘Course it ain’t!” Angie said defensively.

“Then what is it?” Instead of replying, Angie sighed, closed her book, and walked to her room, grumbling under her breath. Stan tried to catch her eye, but she was avoiding looking at him.

_Seriously, what the fuck is going on with her?_

“Teenagers,” Ma McGucket sighed. “Lute, when yer all ready to watch the movies, go an’ get yer sister, will ya?”

“You got it, Ma.” 

“Stanley, are ya excited to decorate yer first tree?” Ma McGucket asked, abruptly changing topic.

“Uh, I guess. Is it fun?”

“ _So_ much fun,” Violynn said.

“How exactly is putting various brightly colored baubles on a tree fun?” Ford asked.

“It involves creativity, and we have cookies and sing while we decorate the tree,” Violynn said, stroking her daughter’s hair gently. 

“And the first person that finds the misshapen ornament is the first person to open presents on Christmas,” Lute said. “I found it last year. I’m plannin’ on findin’ it again.”

“Oh yeah? Well, maybe I’ll find it just so that you don’t,” Stan said. 

“Ya don’t even celebrate Christmas!” Lute said indigently. 

“Wait, if Stan finds it does that mean that no one unwraps presents?” Fiddleford asked. “‘Cause he can’t unwrap first. He won't have any Christmas presents.”

“We’ll cross that bridge when we come to it,” Ma McGucket replied. Stan caught Lute’s eyes and raised his eyebrows in a silent challenge.

_“You’re on,”_ Lute mouthed in response. 

 

A few hours later, Ford wandered into the kitchen for a glass of water. On his way back to the guestroom, he stopped by the living room. All the McGucket siblings and Stan were asleep. Basstian and Violynn were in the two armchairs. Violynn’s oldest child was in her lap, snoring softly. Fiddleford was propped up against the couch, while Harper was spread out across the floor. It looked like he had spilled the bowl of popcorn at some point; kernels were scattered across the tan carpeting. 

“Hey, Sixer,” Stan said quietly, making Ford jolt. 

_I thought he was asleep!_ Stan was sitting on the couch, with the youngest McGucket siblings on either side of him. Lute was leaned against him, while Angie had taken it a step further. Her head was in his lap. Even in the darkness, Stan’s silhouette stood out sharply against the white wall behind him. 

“Hey, Stan. Was the movie good?”

“It was decent.” Stan snorted softly. “But then Angie fell asleep on me. And then Lute decided to do that, too. So I’m stuck here.”

“You could move, you know.” Stan mulled over that for a moment.

“Yeah, but it’d wake up Lute. And I like the kid.”

“I think it’s mutual.” Despite the darkness of the room, Ford could make out Stan’s grin.

“Yeah.” 

“It wouldn’t wake up Angie?”

“Pfft, no. She’d sleep through the apocalypse.” His grin vanished. “You shoulda joined us, Ford.”

“And get grilled and mistreated by Lute and Angie? No, thank you.”

“The others woulda kept ‘em in check.” Stan shrugged, making Lute shift slightly. “And anyways, they decided to back off before the movie even started.”

“Really?”

“Well, yeah. They were concerned ‘bout me. All ya had to do to get ‘em to back off was get on their good side. And ya did. More or less.” He yawned. “Go to bed, Sixer. I mean, you’ve got the chance to. You should take it.” Ford chuckled.

“I will.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey everyone, sorry about the delayed update. I've been going through some personal drama, and I just finished up my first week back at college, so I haven't gotten a chance to write for this fic much. But hopefully this was worth the wait. There's a lot of conversation about feelings, and the Stans definitely needed that.  
> I'm not sure when the next chapter will go up, as per usual, but it won't be quite as heavy as the last two chapters. And then Chapters 12 and 13 will be fairly intense. I'm incredibly excited to write them.  
> As always, if you have any questions or comments, leave them below, or message me at thelastspeecher.tumblr.com.


	11. The Comfort of this House

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh, I miss **the comfort of this house** /Where we are, where we are – Of Monsters and Men, “Lakehouse”

“What are ya doin’ now?” Harper asked, peering intently at Stan lighting the menorah. Stan wasn’t sure where the McGuckets had found it, but he appreciated it. He didn’t really observe much, but there was something comforting about following an old tradition. The menorah was being kept in the living room, like the tree. As a result, Stan had a small audience, composed of Harper, Basstian, Violynn, and Layla. All four of them were completely oblivious about Judaism.

“I’m lightin’ it.”

“Why?” Basstian asked.

“‘Cause my Jewish ancestors had a small amount of oil, but they were able to use it to keep candles lit for eight nights. Or somethin’ like that.”

“No, that’s right,” Ford chimed in, from where he was helping Lute put ornaments on the Christmas tree. “Enough oil for one night, but somehow it lasted eight nights. It was a miracle, one large enough that we celebrate it each year.” 

“Does this have anythin’ to do with a bar mitzvah?” Violynn asked. Stan snorted. He waved the match until it went out. 

“Are ‘Hanukkah’ and ‘bar mitzvah’ the only things ya know about Judaism?” 

“Maybe.” 

“A bar mitzvah is a comin’ of age thing. Happens when yer thirteen,” Lute said. He looked over at Ford. “Right?” 

“Usually, yes. Ours was when we were twelve, however,” Ford replied. He frowned at Lute. “How do you know that?”

“I haven’t decided my major, so I’m takin’ a bunch of classes until I find one I really like. I took religious studies this last semester.”

“Wait, if ya have a bar mitzvah when yer thirteen, why was yours when you were twelve?” Violynn asked, stopping Layla before she could grab the menorah. 

“Pops made that decision,” Stan said shortly.

“Why?” Lute asked. Stan walked over to the open boxes of ornaments and grabbed a few. 

“I don’t know why my pops does anything,” he replied. 

“I think the pawnshop was doing well that year,” Ford suggested. “There was enough spare cash to have a double bar mitzvah.” Stan grunted in response.

“Ah! Hair, hair!” Angie shouted suddenly. She had been sitting on the floor, helping watch her niece, while the others were decorating the tree.

“Sorry, Angie,” Violynn said, hurrying over and picking up Cellary. Cellary gurgled happily, holding a few strands of Angie’s caramel-colored hair. Angie rubbed her scalp woefully. “Cellary’s been really into pullin’ hair lately.”

“Ya coulda warned me,” Angie mumbled, standing up. She walked over to the ornament boxes and began to join in decorating the tree. 

“How are things goin’ in here?” Ma McGucket asked, walking into the living room. She was currently cooking an exorbitant amount of treats, and was wearing an apron her children had made for her ten years ago. A large blue mixing bowl was in her hands.

“Pretty well. Fidds found the misshapen ornament,” Harper replied.

“And we got a lesson on Judaism,” Violynn continued. Ma McGucket smiled.

“Sounds good. Yer father should be back any minute to help ya finish up.” As if on cue, the front door opened. “Why, there he is now.” Pa McGucket strode into the living room. 

“Looks mighty nice,” the McGucket family patriarch said cheerfully. “Stan, Ford, yer doin’ well, seein’ as how this is yer first time trimmin’ a tree.” Stan shrugged.

“It’s kinda fun. I can reach branches a lot higher than Lute can.” Lute, who was only taller than the miniscule Angie, elbowed Stan playfully. 

“By the way, Lute, I’ve been meaning to ask you something,” Ford said.

“What?”

“Did Stanley convince you to not wear your glasses?” Lute blinked.

“I don’t need glasses.”

“Oh. Well, almost everyone in your family wears them, so I just assumed-”

“Why would ya think Stan convinced him to do that?” Angie interrupted. 

“Stan never wears his, and both you and Lute are younger than him, and don’t wear glasses, so I thought-”

“Wait, Stan, you have glasses?” Fiddleford said abruptly. All eyes in the room focused on Stan, who turned red.

“Uh…”

“That explains a lot,” Ma McGucket said slowly. “Ya had a hard time tellin’ us all apart when ya first met everyone.”

“That was because y’all look the same. And no, I don’t have glasses.” Pa McGucket raised an eyebrow. “Pops didn’t put ‘em in the duffel bag he gave me when he kicked me out.” 

“Ya need glasses, son,” Pa McGucket said firmly but not unkindly. “Sally, would ya go call Dr. Benson?” Ma McGucket nodded and went back into the kitchen, where the phone was kept. 

“Who’s Dr. Benson?” Stan asked warily.

“The fam’ly optometrist,” Violynn replied, bouncing Cellary on one knee. 

“I don’t need glasses. I’m fine without ‘em,” Stan grumbled. Lute rolled his eyes.

“Oh, don’t act like that, Stan. If ya don’t need ‘em, Dr. Benson won’t give ya any. Now, how do ya feel ‘bout singin’ some Christmas carols?”

“You don’t want to hear me sing.”

“I don’t believe that.”

“Oh, really?” 

“Really.” Lute turned to one of his older brothers. “Basstian, turn up the tunes, would ya?” With a chuckle, Basstian slowly turned the volume up on the radio, and the sound of “Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer” filled the room, accompanied by nine voices, some more in tune than others. 

 

“So, my best friend keeps talkin’ ‘bout tarot cards,” Harper said as he frosted a sugar cookie. Stan stifled a groan. Many of the McGuckets, he’d noticed, had a tendency to talk a lot. Basstian was the only one that was even slightly quiet. But even though Harper talked almost non-stop, he didn’t say much that had any real meaning. 

_At least when the others ramble for hours on end, they actually have a purpose. Harper just says words to say words._

“Really?” Stan said, deciding to nip Harper’s word waterfall in the bud. “My mom knows how to do tarot cards.” He picked up a sugar cookie shaped like a snowman and started frosting it. It broke in half. “Shi-” He abruptly remembered that Layla and Cellary were also sitting at the kitchen table, covered in frosting and sprinkles. “Uh, I mean, shoot.”

“Stop pickin’ ‘em up,” Fiddleford suggested, clearing away the other cookies Stan had broken in his attempts to decorate them. Decorating sugar cookies with homemade frosting was another McGucket Christmas tradition, one that Stan felt kind of silly participating in. But he liked sitting in the kitchen with the McGucket siblings, as everyone attempted to make the nicest looking cookies. 

“How am I supposed to decorate ‘em then?” Stan asked, selecting another blank sugar cookie, this one shaped like a candy cane.

“Just lay it down on the table and frost it there.” Stan set the cookie down and squinted at it suspiciously.

“Don’t think that’s gonna work.”

“Yer mom knows how to use tarot cards?” Lute asked, grabbing the blue frosting, which Angie was using.

“Hey! Give that back!” Angie said. She snatched the container from him. 

“Yeah, she’s a psychic.” All the McGuckets turned their gaze toward Stan.

_Why does this keep happening?_

“Really?” Violynn asked, momentarily taking a break from wiping frosting off her daughters.

“Is it genetic?” Angie blurted out.

“What do you mean?” Stan asked cautiously. 

“Can- can ya see the future?” Angie asked, somewhat hesitantly. Fiddleford scoffed.

“‘Course he can’t, Angie. Yer a fan of science. You know that.” 

“Well, mom _was_ pretty good at her job,” Ford hedged, taking a decorated sugar cookie from the table and biting into it. 

“Uh, maybe I could,” Stan said slowly. Angie stood up and moved into the seat next to Stan. She took his hands in hers. A faint pink blush spread across her cheeks. 

“Tell me my fortune, Stan.”

_I didn’t think any of ‘em would actually be interested. Shit._ Angie looked at him expectantly. _Okay, okay. Mom taught me the tricks of the trade. I can bullshit my way through this._ He cleared his throat.

“You’re gonna get a job in a different state.” Angie’s eyes lit up. “And work in a forest.” She leaned forward excitedly.

“Angie, he’s just tellin’ ya what ya want to hear. Don’t get yer hopes up,” Violynn interjected. Angie rolled her eyes.

“I trust Stan. I think he knows what he’s doin’.” She grinned at him. “Go on.” 

“Uh…” Stan’s mind was racing. He didn’t want to get Angie’s hopes up for a future that would never happen. Doing the vague predictions was one thing. Doing specifics was another thing entirely. He swallowed, struggling to concentrate. 

_She believes in this bullshit ability I said I had. But I_ don’t _have some sort of “future vision”. And even if I did, I wouldn’t be able to use it. Not when she’s staring at me like that._

“The love of your life is ruggedly handsome,” he began. Something optimistic flashed across Angie’s face. Basstian snorted. “He’s big and strong.” Angie’s grin was so big it probably hurt. Her cheeks turned a slightly darker shade of pink. “And…he’s got red hair.” The grin vanished instantly, replaced by a confused look.

_Did I just shit all over a crush of hers or something?_

“What?” she whispered.

“I’d like to hear more about this soulmate of Angie’s,” Basstian said, waving a butter knife covered in frosting. He was clearly amused by the idea of his younger sister dating anyone. Angie rolled her eyes.

“Uh, you’re gonna have four kids.” Angie scoffed.

“I only ever want one or two.”

“Are ya callin’ me a liar?”

“No…”

“Good, because the last thing is important.”

“Okay.”

“Watch out for…squares?” Angie snickered.

“Shapes never hurt no one.” She slipped her hands out of his. “Anyone else want a fortune?”

“Whoa, whoa, you didn’t ask _me_ if I wanted to tell any more fortunes,” Stan protested. 

“Oh,” someone said. Stan groaned at the disappointed look mirrored by every McGucket in the room.

“Okay, I’ll tell your fortune if you want,” he mumbled.

“Fidds, you should go next,” Lute suggested, dumping out the rest of the blue frosting onto his tree-shaped cookie. 

“No.”

“Oh, come on,” Angie wheedled. Fiddleford sighed.

“Fine.” He sat in the seat Angie had vacated and slid his hands into Stan’s. Stan immediately broke into a sweat. 

_This is a really good way for me to fuck up both of my brothers’ relationship. But I guess neither of ‘em really believe in seeing the future anyways._

“You’ll have one child. A son. Brown-eyed, brown-haired. Kinda a weird kid. But that’s okay. ‘Cause both his parents are weird, too.” Fiddleford smiled gently. Stan returned the smile hesitantly. “Um, avoid dollar bills.”

“What?” Fiddleford asked. Someone snickered.

“Ya know the triangle thing on the back? The thing with the eye?”

“Yeah.”

“Be careful of that.” Fiddleford rolled his eyes. “Hey, I’m tryin’ to help ya out!”

“By tellin’ me to avoid money and the all-seeing eye.” He slid his hands out of Stan’s and stood up. “Maybe ya need more practice.”

“Maybe.”

“I’m game to be practice,” Basstian said abruptly. He slid into the chair beside Stan. Stan stifled a sigh.

_I’m gonna have to do this for all of them, aren’t I?_

“Okay, it looks like you and your wife will have one kid,” Stan began.

 

That night, Stan brushed his teeth in the upstairs bathroom. Tim was using the downstairs one to hose down Layla and Cellory. Despite Violynn’s best efforts, her children had finished the sugar cookie decorating looking technicolor and very, very sticky. Someone knocked on the bathroom door.

“Ish unlocked!” Stan shouted, his mouth full of toothpaste. The person, Fiddleford, opened the door.

“Stan, I need to use the bathroom!” Fiddleford said urgently. Stan rolled his eyes.

“Ushe da downshtairs one,” he mumbled. “I’m brushin’ my teef.”

“Are ya usin’ the upstairs bathroom ‘cause someone else was usin’ it?”

“Yesh.”

“Well, I’ve got the same problem. Now scat, I’ll only be a minute.” With an overly dramatic groan, Stan left the bathroom. Fiddleford sprinted in and slammed the door. Stan leaned against the wall next to the bathroom, half-heartedly continuing to brush his teeth. 

“It’s just- it’s so inconvenient.” Stan stood up straight as he picked up on a voice. He looked around and saw a wedge of light spilling onto the floor. Its source was the room at the end of the hallway; Angie’s bedroom door was ajar. 

_What’s she talking ‘bout?_ Unable to resist his curiosity, he moved closer, as silently as possible.

“Hon, it wouldn’t be called a ‘crush’ if it was convenient. Why do ya think its name uses the same word that means smotherin’ or destroyin’?” Stan’s eyes went wide at Violynn’s words. 

_Whoa, Angie has a crush? I was right?_

“That’s so cliché,” Angie said grumpily.

“It’s a cliché ‘cause it’s true, darlin’.”

“Why did this happen though? It weren’t like what everyone says. I didn’t like him in that way when I first met him. It only happened after I got to know him.”

“Sometimes that’s how it goes.” Both sisters were quiet for a moment.

“What am I s’posed to do?” Angie asked softly. Violynn sighed.

“There ain’t one right answer to that question. Yer not ‘supposed’ to do anything. Ya just do whatever seems right to ya.”

“I don’t want to ruin our friendship,” Angie said. Stan looked down at the floor, suddenly uncomfortable. It was obvious that Angie was choking back tears. He began to feel the urge to get away, but stuck around.

_I’ve already started listening in. I should at least hear how it ends._

“Oh, sweetheart.” Bedsprings creaked, and Stan could picture Violynn and Angie sitting on the latter’s bed, Violynn putting an arm around her younger sister. “Ya don’t have to do anything if ya don’t want to.”

“Okay,” Angie said in a very small voice. She took a deep breath. “Do ya- do ya think anyone else knows I’ve got a- a crush?”

 _Well,_ I _do now._

“Angie, even Ma can’t tell. Ya hide it very well, and the only reason I knew is ‘cause yer my baby sister.”

“So he doesn’t know?”

“You know him better ‘n I do. What do you think?”

“He’s- he’s a bit oblivious ‘bout these sorts of things. An’ he hasn’t said anything to me, or started actin’ different ‘round me.”

“There ya go. There’s yer answer.” Angie sighed in relief. 

“Thanks, ‘Lynn.”

“No problem, Angie.” The bathroom door down the hall opened.

“Stan, the bathroom’s yours,” Fiddleford said, already walking down the stairs. There were some sounds of movement from Angie’s room. Panicked, Stan bolted for the bathroom to rinse out his toothpaste. His mouth felt very dry all of a sudden.

 

Stan walked through the door, his glasses in hand. 

_I ain’t wearing them. I’ve gone this long without them. I’ll be fine._

“Stan, we’re in the livin’ room!” Ma McGucket called.

“Got it.” He headed toward the living room, sliding his shoes off and putting them in the basket beside the door before he did so. 

“There ya are!” Violynn said cheerfully, looking up from the board game she was playing with her daughters. Layla grabbed a piece and brought it to her mouth. “No, sweetie, don’t eat that,” Violynn chided, taking the small steel top hat away. Stan grinned and sat on the edge of the couch.

“Why are ya playin’ Monopoly?” he asked. “I think they’re a bit too small to understand the rules.”

“We ain’t playin’ Monopoly,” Lute replied, moving the small pieces away from the children. “We just got it out ‘cause it’s got the most interestin’ things for young’uns to play with.” Layla tried to grab one of the green plastic houses. “‘Course, we prob’ly shoulda gone with a game what has bigger pieces.” Stan snickered. 

“Where are yer new glasses?” Ma McGucket asked, looking up from her knitting. Stan turned pink.

“In here,” he mumbled, showing her the case.

“Why aren’t ya wearin’ them, son?” Pa McGucket asked.

“I don’t need ‘em.”

“If the doctor gave ‘em to ya, ya need ‘em,” Basstian said calmly from where he was laying down on the couch. 

“Basstian, do ya have to take up the whole couch?” Stan asked, hoping to steer the conversation away from his less-than-stellar eyesight.

“I’ll make room fer ya, but ya have to put on yer glasses first,” Basstian replied, lifting his head to look at Stan.

“I’ll just make do on the arm of the couch, then.”

“Stan,” Pa McGucket said in a warning tone. “Ya need to wear glasses.” Stan flushed again.

“No, I don’t! I’ve been fine without them for this long!”

“Stanley Stanford Pines.” Stan winced.

_They only use full names if the person is in trouble._

“Fine,” he grumbled. He opened the case and stared at the glasses. Just like his old ones, they were square, with a wire frame. He sighed heavily and put them on. Everything instantly became clearer.

_I hate it when they’re right._ Ma and Pa McGucket smiled at him.

“Don’t ya look handsome!” Ma McGucket said cheerfully. Stan looked away. “Stan, those glasses look mighty nice on ya.” 

“Thanks,” he muttered. He looked at Basstian. “Okay, now scooch over.” With a groan, Basstian sat up and slid over. Stan took a seat next to him. Basstian gave him a hearty pat on the back. 

“Ma and Pa ‘re right. The glasses suit ya.”

“Yeah, sure, whatever.” 

_They’re just saying that because they’re supposed to._

“My personal theory is, well, it’s less of a theory than it is a collection of observations, but-” Ford stopped mid-sentence when he walked into the living room. He had caught sight of Stan, in his new glasses. Stan turned red yet again. Ford grinned.

“Would ya look at that!” Fidds said, pleased. He didn’t seem to have minded Ford suddenly breaking off the conversation. Or if he did, he didn’t give any indication of it. “Ya got some glasses! Good for ya, Stan!” He and Ford were carrying their luggage, loading up Fiddleford’s truck. Winter break had gone by in a flash, and it was already time for them to head back to school.

“You look almost as nerdy as me,” Ford teased. Stan became even more red. He took off his glasses. Everything was fuzzy and blurry again.

_Shit. That might have been a bad decision._

“Oh, come on, Stan, I was just joking,” Ford said, setting his luggage on the floor. “Put them back on. Your eyes will only get worse if you avoid wearing glasses.”

“I don’t care. I’m not a nerd.”

“Stan, I’m sorry,” Ford said. He took a seat on the couch next to his twin. “I know you’re sensitive about your glasses. It’s really better for you in the long run to wear them.”

“He’s right,” Fidds said, taking a seat on the floor next to his siblings and nieces, helping to keep the small pieces out of small hands. Stan groaned.

“Fine!” He put the glasses back on. “But if cute girls won’t talk to me, I’m takin’ ‘em off.” Everyone in the room rolled their eyes at the comment. The front door opened. 

“I’m really excited! I’ve never seen this kinda salamander ‘round here before,” Angie said, bubbling with happiness. 

“Uh huh, just keep it outta the kitchen. Ma and Pa don’t let animals in there, ya know.”

“I know!” Angie walked into the living room, Harper close behind her. Angie was grinning ear to ear. Harper also seemed pleased, but was much more subdued than his younger sister. 

“What do ya have in there?” Fiddleford asked, eyeing the box Angie was carrying.

“A salamander! I’m goin’ to see if I can figure out what kind it is. I never seen one like it ‘round here before.”

“Ya know, if ya take a picture, I could always ask one of the folks at Backupsmore to identify it,” Fiddleford said casually. Angie’s eyes grew wide.

“Really?”

“Yeah. To double-check yer identification.” Angie set the box on Stan’s lap and rushed off to grab her Polaroid camera. She came back a few seconds later. 

“Okay, I got to take a nice picture of it. Stan, would ya mind holdin’ the lil feller fer me?” She looked up and blinked in surprise. “Yer wearin’ glasses!” Stan looked down, embarrassed. “No, no, lemme see,” she said eagerly. Stan looked at her again. She beamed. “Those glasses look mighty fine on ya, Stan. I like ‘em.”

“Thanks,” Stan mumbled. 

“See, Stan?” Lute said in a teasing tone. “And you were worried ‘bout cute girls not talkin’ to ya.”

“What?” Angie asked, confused.

“It’s nothing, just take the picture of this lizard already, would ya?” Stan said, slightly flustered. 

“It ain’t a lizard. It’s an amphibian.”

“Angie, Ford and I have to leave soon, so ya best take that picture quick,” Fiddleford intervened before Angie could start an argument. Stan opened the box and picked up the slightly muddy salamander. Angie crouched down to take a picture, sticking her tongue out to the side as she did so. The instant picture printed and Angie handed it to Fiddleford, who stood and picked up his luggage. Stan set the salamander back in the box and wiped his dirty hands on his shirt.

“I’m goin’ to miss ya,” Angie said, now hugging Fiddleford. 

“I know. I’ll miss ya, too.” 

“Take good care of my brother, Ford,” Angie said, wiping away a couple tears. Stan snorted.

“I think you should be askin’ Fidds to take care of Ford.” Ford elbowed him. “Seriously, though, look out for each other, yadda yadda yadda.”

“Ya sound like a dad,” Harper said, amused. Stan rolled his eyes.

“I worry ‘bout my fam’ly. Is that a problem?” He stood up, as did Ford, and they embraced. “See you later, Ford.”

“Yeah. You will.” 

The McGucket family, plus Stan, piled out at the front of the house to wave goodbye to Ford and Fiddleford. And then Violynn, Tim, and their kids. Then Basstian. Finally, after Lute and Harper left, Stan, Angie, and Ma and Pa McGucket headed back into the house.

“It seems so empty,” Stan said quietly. He sat down on the couch. Angie shrugged and joined him.

“It always does.” She turned to face him, grinning slightly. “Ya shoulda seen when all of us kids lived at home. I don’t ‘member it much, ‘cause I was so small, but I ‘member all the noise, all the time. So many folks livin’ in this house. An’ we had hogs back then, too, so things were that much more chaotic.” 

“Really?”

“Yeah.” Angie sighed and leaned her head against Stan’s shoulder. “Do ya like hogs?”

“Not really, no.” She chuckled.

“Don’t tell my fam’ly, but I don’t either.”

“Don’t worry, your secret’s safe with me.” 

Later that night, as he was about to fall asleep, Stan frowned, suddenly realizing what Angie had said.

_“Don’t tell my fam’ly.” Does that mean she doesn’t consider me family?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh, wow, that was...a long chapter. Composed of 100% fluff. It's sort of to make up for the fact that the last two chapters are going to be fairly intense. Loose ends getting tied up, people coming clean, and closure being reached. But I'm incredibly excited to write those chapters.  
> Fun fact about this chapter: the tradition where the McGuckets decorate sugar cookies is actually something my mom's family does. We would make sugar cookies and use my grandmother's frosting recipe to decorate them.  
> These last four chapters, I've decided to upload them on a weekly schedule. Chapter 10 was last week, Chapter 11 was this week, Chapter 12 is next week, and Chapter 13 is the week after that. So I'll see you all again next weekend!  
> As always, if you have any questions or comments, leave them below or message me at thelastspeecher.tumblr.com.


	12. Devil's in the House

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fire on the mountain, run boys, run/The **devil's in the house** of the rising sun – The Charlie Daniels Band, “The Devil Went Down to Georgia”

“Stan, ya ready to go?” Angie asked, knocking on his door.

“Just about. You can come in if ya want.” She opened the door. 

“Why is yer room so dang messy?”

“Well, not all of us are obsessively clean like you and Fidds,” Stan replied, sniffing a shirt, deciding it was clean enough, and throwing it in his overnight bag. He looked up from his haphazard packing. Angie was eyeing his overnight bag with disgust. 

“Did ya need to smell it?”

“Yeah. Gotta make sure it’s clean.” Angie sighed and sat down on his bed. 

“It’s, what, nine hours to Backupsmore? We gotta get goin’.” 

“I know, I know.” Stan looked around his room. “Shit, my toothbrush is still in the bathroom.” He paused for a moment, then shrugged. “Eh, I’ll be fine without it.”

“Stan…” Angie said warningly.

“Fine.” Stan bolted out of his room. When he came back, toothbrush in hand, Angie was standing by his dresser, looking at the various knickknacks on it. She frowned, picking up the picture frame Stan still had from the guest room.

“It’s broken,” she said quietly.

“Uh, yeah. When I got all pissed at Fidds for bringing Ford home, I slammed my door and it fell down. The glass cracked.” 

“We can get ya a new glass cover thing.”

“I know. But I think I’ll leave it. At least, for now.” He threw his toothbrush in the bag and zipped it shut. “All right, looks like I’ve got everything. Ready?”

“Yup!” Angie said cheerfully.

“Where’s your lizard friend?”

“Tubbs is a salamander, not a lizard, and he’s waitin’ by the door.”

“Can’t believe ya named him,” Stan said, walking out of his room. He waited for Angie to leave before closing the door.

“Why wouldn’t I?”

“…I don’t know how to answer that.” Angie snickered. 

After Fiddleford had showed the biology professor the picture of Angie’s salamander, he’d requested that Angie bring it, so he could examine it in person. So Angie and Stan decided to go up to Backupsmore during their next long weekend. Unfortunately, the drive from Gumption to Peoria was just about nine hours, so they had to leave fairly early in the morning to get there at a decent time. Due to the long drive, they would be staying the night at Backupsmore, and leaving early the next day. 

_Not exactly my idea of a good time, but it’ll be nice to see Fidds and Ford again._ Ma McGucket was waiting by the front door for them.

“Good luck, you two,” Ma McGucket said, giving her daughter a kiss on the cheek and hugging Stan. “Be careful drivin’ and don’t let Angie wander ‘round without supervision.” Angie hugged her mother.

“Don’t worry, Stan’ll keep me safe.” She picked up the box containing her salamander, Tubbs. “Come on, Stan.” She headed outside.

“Everything’ll be fine,” Stan reassured Ma McGucket. “We’ll call when we get there.” Ma McGucket patted his cheek.

“Good. We’ll talk then,” she replied. Stan opened the front door and walked outside. Angie was already sitting in the passenger seat in the Stanleymobile.

_How the hell did she get in there? I thought I locked it._ Angie leaned over and honked the horn on the steering wheel. Stan grinned.

“I’m comin’!” He threw his bag into the trunk and slid into the driver’s seat. “Are ya excited to leave Arkansas for the first time?” he asked Angie, digging around between the seats for his map. Angie tapped him on the shoulder. He looked up. She handed him the map he had been looking for. “Nope, you keep it. You’re gonna be my navigator.”

“Okay. And, yeah, I’m excited.” She unfolded the map eagerly. Within seconds, she was almost completely obscured by the large piece of paper. Stan laughed. She peeked at him over the map. “What?”

“That thing’s bigger ‘n you are.” She pouted at him. “Relax, I’m just messin’ with ya.” He started the car. “All right, let’s go to our brothers’ shitty school.”

 

“Hey, Angie, wake up.” Stan shook Angie’s shoulder gently.

“Don’t wanna,” she mumbled.

“Trust me. You _do_ wanna.” With a sigh, Angie sat up. Her eyes widened. She immediately plastered herself against the window.

“Wow,” she breathed, taking in the skyscrapers. Stan smiled at her honest, innocent wonder. “Where are we?” she asked.

“St. Louis.” She mouthed the words “St. Louis”, still completely starstruck. “We passed a sign earlier that said somethin’ like 600,000 people live here.” Her eyes got even wider.

“So many people livin’ in one place,” she whispered. “How is that even possible?”

“I ain’t an architect, don’t ask me.” Angie rolled her eyes.

“I weren’t askin’ you. I was askin’, I don’t know, the concept of a big city?” She continued to stare at the enormous buildings, multi-lane roads, and off-ramps. “600,000 people. Gumption ain’t a blip on these folks’ radar. But it’s my entire world.”

“It don’t have to be,” Stan said. Angie looked at him. A smile spread across her face. 

“You’re right.” She turned her focus back to the cityscape, still smiling euphorically. “There’s so much out there. So many people, so many things. I don’t wanna stay in Arkansas my whole life. I wanna see the rest of the world. See them tall buildings, be in huge crowds of people, hear more ‘n one language on the street.” She sighed wistfully. “Imagine a life like that.” Something about her words sounded familiar to Stan, struck a chord with him. 

_“I just wonder if there's anywhere in the world where weirdos like me fit in.”_

_“One of these days, you and me are gonna sail away from this dumb town. We'll hunt for treasure, get all the girls, and be an unstoppable team of adventurers.”_

He nodded, suddenly melancholic. 

“Yeah. Imagine.”

 

Stan opened the door of the Stanleymobile. He got out, scattering pop cans. When he stretched, the muscles in his legs complaining after having been stuck in the same position for so long. At the sound of the passenger door opening, he looked over. Angie had almost fallen out of the car in her haste to get out. Fast food wrappers accompanied her near reunion with the ground. She bounced back and stood on her tiptoes, stretching her arms in the same way Stan was. 

“Ya ready to go see their dorm room?” Stan asked. Angie nodded eagerly. “Don’t forget your lizard. Your meeting with the professor is gonna be pretty soon.”

“Tubbs ain’t a lizard. He’s a salamander,” Angie replied, grabbing the box containing her salamander from the car.

“Yer just beatin’ a dead horse, Angie,” Fiddleford said, approaching them. Ford was close behind him.

“Fidds!” Angie shouted happily. She rushed forward to hug her older brother.

“Hey there, sis.” Fiddleford wrapped his arms around Angie, squeezing her tightly. “We’ll have to catch up later, ‘cause Professor Farmer ended up movin’ the meetin’ to earlier. We gotta get goin’ right now.”

“Oh, okay,” Angie said. She looked back at Stan. “Don’t go destroyin’ public property without me!” 

“Like I’d do somethin’ that fun with Ford,” Stan scoffed. Ford rolled his eyes. 

“See ya later!” Angie shouted, waving at the twins. She and Fiddleford set off on foot, across the enormous parking lot just outside Fiddleford and Ford’s residence hall.

“So, do you want to go up?” Ford asked awkwardly.

“Sure, why not.” Stan followed Ford into the residence hall, noting the cockroaches skittering along the floor near the elevators. “Thought ya said they had bug-free dorms.”

“‘Mostly bug-free dorms’,” Ford replied, pressing the up button for the elevator. “The key word there is ‘mostly’.” The elevator dinged. Ford and Stan entered. An awkward silence fell.

 _Guess things aren’t_ quite _back to normal between us._

“How was the drive?” Ford asked finally. Stan shrugged.

“Weren’t that bad. Angie slept until St. Louis, then after she woke up, she talked so much that I almost forgot how to drive a couple times. Coulda been worse.”

“She talks in the car a lot, huh?”

“Apparently readin’ gives her headaches or somethin’.” The elevator dinged again and the doors opened. Ford exited the elevator, closely followed by Stan. Stan looked around, taking in Ford and Fidds’ floor. “So how nerdy is your room?” Ford came to a stop outside a door with two hastily prepared signs reading “Fiddleford” and “Stanford” on it. 

“Please, Stanley.”

“So it ain’t nerdy?” Ford scoffed.

“Of course not.” Ford opened the door. Stan looked in. Character sheets, a grid-patterned game board, and variously-sided and colored dice were on the floor. Ford groaned. “I thought we picked up after our last session of Dungeons, Dungeons, and More Dungeons.” Stan looked at his twin.

“I fuckin’ knew it. Ya can’t hide the nerd inside.” Ford punched Stan playfully. 

“Shut up and get in, would you?” Chuckling, Stan followed him into the room.

 

Stan woke up from his nap at the sound of a key in a lock. Ford looked up from his desk, where he had been working on homework.

“It’s unlocked, Fidds!” Ford shouted. They both heard a muffled “Oh” before the door opened. Fiddleford walked into the room. Angie stood in the doorway for a brief moment, looking at her brother’s dorm room, before walking in and sitting down on the floor. She set down the box containing her salamander and picked up a die. Ford still hadn’t cleaned up the D, D and More D paraphernalia. Stan looked at Angie expectantly, but she just turned the die over in her hands silently. 

“So? How’d it go?” Stan asked finally. Angie’s eyes lit up.

“The professor had an axolotl an’ he let me hold it!” she said excitedly.

“Angie, I think he was talkin’ ‘bout why the professor wanted to see Tubbs,” Fiddleford said gently. The light in Angie’s eyes dimmed just a bit. She bit her lip.

“Oh. Right.” She took a breath. “Well, first, he asked to see Tubbs. Then after he looked him over, he asked me what kinda salamander I thought he was.”

“The salamander asked you?” Stan asked. Angie rolled her eyes.

“No, the professor. And I told him that I found this old guidebook in the lib’ary, that mentioned there was this species of salamander called Ainsworth’s salamander, or _Plethodon ainsworthi_ , and Tubbs looked like one of those.” 

“Were you right?” Ford asked.

“Y-yeah. I was.”

“Well, that’s great!” Stan said. He frowned. “But why did he have you come and bring Tubbs?” Angie swallowed.

“ _Plethodon ainsworthi_ has been extinct since 1964.” 

“Wait, you found an extinct species?” Ford asked, aghast. Angie nodded. “Wow.”

“Holy shit, Angie,” Stan said. Angie smiled crookedly.

“He asked if I brought my field notes with me, and I did, so I showed ‘em to him.” Angie shrugged. “He said they were really good, especially since I never got any real trainin’ in field work an’ data collection.” She went silent. Fiddleford nudged her.

“Tell ‘em what he offered ya,” Fiddleford said.

“He- he offered me a scholarship.” Stan gaped. 

“Really?” Stan asked.

“I- I told him that my grades ain’t good,” Angie said quickly, “that no college would accept me. An’ he said that Backupsmore would. That this college don’t really care ‘bout grades.”

“Truer words,” Ford mumbled. Stan elbowed his twin. 

“Go on, Angie,” Stan said, nodding at her.

“But apparently findin’ an extinct species is a big deal or somethin’, and because I’m the one what found it, I’m goin’ to be in papers and the news.” Angie began to twist her hands nervously. She seemed overwhelmed. “Apparently they want to snatch me up quick ‘fore a different school can.” Stan leaned back. 

“Wow, Angie, that’s amazin’.” Stan grinned at her. “I knew you weren’t gonna stay stuck in Gumption your whole life.” She smiled hesitantly back. Fiddleford wrapped an arm around his little sister and hugged her, full of pride.

“Ma ‘n Pa are goin’ to be so happy,” Fiddleford said. Angie wriggled out of his hug.

“Yeah. But, uh, I could use some fresh air.” 

“Gimme a mo’, I’ll go with ya,” Stan said, standing up and starting to look for his shoes. Angie opened the door and peered out into the hallway. Her eyes widened. She closed the door quickly.

“Fidds, ‘member that scary lookin’ man we saw in the lobby?” she asked. 

“Yeah,” Fiddleford replied.

“He’s here.”

“Shoot, really?” Fiddleford opened the door and looked into the hallway the same way Angie had. “Wonder why he’s here.” Angie poked her head out again.

“He looks kinda familiar,” she said.

“Hey, Stan, what does yer dad look like?” Fiddleford asked casually.

“Uh, square chin, hat, ugly-ass yellow suit, and wears sunglasses everywhere, even indoors.” Fiddleford pulled his head back in, gently tugging Angie into the room as he did so. He turned to look at Stan. 

“So that’s definitely him, then.”

“What?” Stan also looked into the hallway. He came back into the room and closed the door, panic in his eyes. “Motherfucker.” He looked at Ford. “Pops is here. What the hell is he doin’ here?” Ford swallowed, clearly panicked.

“I didn’t _ask_ him to visit. But sometimes he stops by, to make sure I’m studying and doing well in my classes.” Stan ran a hand across his face.

“Shit.” Stan looked around the room, searching for some way to escape. “I can’t let him see me. Maybe the window?”

“We’re on the eighth floor,” Fiddleford reminded him.

“So?”

“You would die if you went out the window.” 

“Better than dealin’ with Pops,” Stan mumbled. Angie and Fiddleford exchanged worried looks. 

“What if I distract him?” Angie suggested. “Then Stan can slip out without bein’ seen.”

“Uh, no, you are _not_ gonna talk to my father. I promised your ma I’d keep you safe,” Stan said firmly. Angie’s facial expression broke. 

“Is yer dad really that bad?” she whispered. Stan looked down. “What did he _do_ to the two of ya?” 

“It don’t matter,” Fiddleford said abruptly, though his expression made it obvious that it _did_ matter, and he would be talking to Stan and Ford about it later. “We need to get Stan outta here.”

“I’ll distract him,” Ford said quietly. He stood and opened the door. “Stan, you take Angie and sneak down the other stairway.”

“Got it,” Stan said with a quick nod. Ford exited the room. 

“H-hey Pops. What are you doing here?” they could hear him say to Filbrick Pines. Fiddleford looked in the hallway. 

“Coast’s clear,” Fiddleford whispered. Stan grabbed Angie’s hand and pulled her into the hallway. They were almost to the stairs when the shouting started. Stan turned. Filbrick was doing his classic intimidation move, standing directly in front of Ford, yelling in his face. Ford flinched as spittle hit his face. Stan’s heart broke to see his twin deal with such abuse. He looked back at Angie, who seemed terrified. She was clinging to his arm, watching Filbrick yell at Ford with wide, horrified eyes. 

“We went over this! No chatting up your roommate. He’s not rich, he doesn’t have any connections, and he’s a fucking _queer_! I can tell just by looking at him!” Filbrick roared. Stan winced. 

“He can’t say that ‘bout Fidds,” Angie whispered. Stan looked at her again. She was trembling, but determined. 

_Fuck, she wants to defend her brother. But no way in hell is Angie gonna try to intervene._

“No, he can’t,” Stan said softly. “But don’t try to stop him. You’ll just get hurt. Trust me.” 

“You’re wasting my money, just like your useless twin did! Maybe I shoulda kicked both of you freeloaders out! I ended up with a freak and a spare. Neither of you deserve my hard-earned cash!” Filbrick snarled. Something in Stan snapped. He let go of Angie’s hand and was halfway down the hallway before he had time to register what he was doing. Stan intercepted Filbrick’s fist before it could connect with Ford’s face. 

“Stop.” Stan wasn’t sure where that tone of voice had come from, but he’d never used anything like it with his father before. Filbrick turned to face Stan. He became an inhuman shade of red.

“ _You_.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> When I was writing Chapter 12, it ended up being over 5000 words long. And that's not something I really want to do, so I decided to split it into two chapters. But I want this fic to reach its conclusion as much as you guys do, so I'll still be posting the final chapter next weekend. Chapter 13 will go up sometime next week, maybe Wednesday. What day I post it depends upon what my school schedule is like. But it's completely written and I just want to have someone beta the next chapter before I post it.  
> I'd apologize for leaving this chapter on such a cliffhanger, but I'm going to be doing it again in the next chapter, so I don't really see the point.  
> As always, if you have any questions or comments, leave them below or message me at thelastspeecher.tumblr.com.


	13. If I Can Forget You

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **If I can forget you** /I might not come back at all – Kingston Trio, “Chilly Winds”
> 
> Trigger warning for this chapter: homophobic language and implied/referenced child abuse.

Filbrick advanced on Stan. Stan took an instinctive step backwards, his heart racing.

_Shit shit shit shit shit. What was I thinking? I’m an idiot. I’m a fucking idiot._

“What the _hell_ are you doing here?” Filbrick growled. Stan swallowed. He looked over his father’s shoulder. Fiddleford had gone to Angie at the end of the hallway; he had a firm grip on her hand and looked ready to bolt with her at any moment. For the time being, however, he and Angie were watching everything go down with mirrored looks of horror. Ford was near tears, but trying to hide it. Stan’s resolve steeled.

“I’m visitin’ my twin brother,” he responded firmly, taking a step toward Filbrick.

“What’s wrong with your voice?”

“Nothin’.”

“You sound like that hillbilly faggot Stanford’s rooming with.” There was some sort of commotion at the end of the hallway from the McGuckets. Filbrick started to shift his focus from Stan.

“Don’t talk about him like that,” Stan snarled, grabbing his father’s attention again. “And don’t talk about Ford like that, either. He’s _not_ a freak.” Filbrick laughed.

“Of course _you_ would think that. You’re nothing but a spare.” Filbrick jabbed his finger at Stan’s chest. “An idiot, who’s come back to his genius twin brother to continue mooching off of him.”

“That’s not what he’s doing, Pops,” Ford intervened. Filbrick spun around.

“You stay out of this, Stanford! This is between me and your pathetic leech of a twin.” Filbrick turned back to Stan. “I don’t know where you’ve been since you dropped off the face of the Earth, but you should go back. You’re not needed or wanted. Not here, not in Glass Shard Beach, not anywhere!” Stan suddenly remembered what he’d told Ford, what seemed like a lifetime ago.

 _“Pops, he never made me feel like I was worth anythin’. Do ya have any clue how hard the McGuckets have worked to fix that?”_ He was filled with renewed determination. 

_I’m not gonna go back to that. I’m not gonna let him kick me around anymore. This ends now._

“Bullshit.” Filbrick inhaled through his nose furiously.

“ _Excuse me_?”

“That’s bullshit! Everything you’ve ever said about me, or Ford, or Shermie, or hell, even Mom! It’s all bullshit. You’re a manipulative, abusive bastard that wanted to pit his kids against each other and keep the one that made somethin’ of himself. You fucked up our childhoods so much that Ford never feels like he’s worth anything unless he’s the best, and I- I never felt like I was worth anything at all.” He choked on the last few words, but powered through. “You kicked me outta the house without a second thought. Years of yellin’, of refusin’ to say anything I did was good, of that _damn belt_ \- it all built up to you cuttin’ me outta the family completely.” Stan heard another noise coming from the McGuckets, but he couldn’t stop. “Why do you think Shermie got out the second he could? Why do you think I didn’t try to come back? Why do you think Ford jumped at the chance to go all the way across the country and settled for just halfway? 

“Because you’re a piss-poor dad. A father wouldn’t do what you did. A father accepts _all_ his kids, no matter what they’re like or who they are or what they do with their life.” Stan paused to take a breath and looked back at the McGuckets. Fiddleford’s eyes were glistening, as though he was holding back tears. “A father wouldn’t call his kids freaks or spares or wastes of space or any of the other shitty things you called us growin’ up.” Stan looked his father right in those damn sunglasses he always wore. “You’re not my fucking father, Pops. Not anymore.” He didn’t see the fist coming. 

“Stanley!” Next thing he knew, he was on the ground, reeling, barely able to make out the shout that came from Fiddleford, or Ford, or Angie, or any of them.

“Don’t you fucking talk to me like that, you piece of shit,” Filbrick snarled, towering over Stan. 

“Hey!” Everyone’s focus shifted to a new person standing in the hallway. “What’s going on here?” Fiddleford and Ford’s RA demanded. He had entered through the stairway near the McGuckets, and must have just come from class. The RA took in the scene: Stan on the ground, Filbrick grabbing his shirt, about to continue attacking his son, and Ford and the McGuckets standing to the side, terrified. The RA grabbed a radio from a pocket on his backpack. “Security, I’m gonna need you to come to the eighth floor. We’ve had some sort of altercation.” The RA put his radio back. “Don’t want _another_ murder at Backupsmore,” he muttered.

“Yes, please remove this man from the premises,” Fiddleford said shakily. 

“Uh, which one?”

“The one in the suit,” Fiddleford supplied. “He was attackin’ my guest.” The RA nodded. Filbrick let go of Stan’s shirt. Stan fell back to the ground, barely catching himself. His ears were still ringing and his heart was still racing. But he couldn’t help grinning when he saw the look on Filbrick’s face.

_After all these years, he’s finally gonna get somethin’ on that spotless police record._

 

“Another college?” Stan asked. Angie hung up the phone with a sigh.

“Yessir.” She joined him on the couch in the living room, opting to sit with crossed legs. About a month after they had gotten back from Backupsmore, the story about Angie’s discovery broke. Since then, she kept getting offers from random colleges that wanted someone with name recognition. 

“What’s goin’ on with you?” Stan asked. Angie looked up at him.

“Hmm?”

“You should be excited, bouncin’ around! You’ve got a chance to go to college and get outta here. Isn’t that what you want?” Angie ducked her head. She traced one of the patterned flowers on the couch with a finger.

“Yeah…”

“So what’s the problem?” Angie bit her lip. “Talk to me.” She shook her head. “I’m gonna call amphibians reptiles until you say somethin’.” Angie smiled at that, but it was fleeting. “Tubbs is a lizard. Prob’ly an iguana.” She rolled her eyes. “Scout is a really, really small alligator.” She snorted. “And that funky lookin’ thing Joel got a hold of the other day wasn’t a toad, it was a fucked up dinosaur.”

“Okay, okay! I’ll talk!” Angie said finally, laughing. She looked up at Stan, but once again, her cheerful expression was wiped away quickly. “What if I can’t make it?”

“What?”

“I grew up in a town of under two thousand. And the thought of somewhere as big as St. Louis, or Chicago, or, wow, even New York, well…” She took a steadying breath. “I can’t understand it. I don’t know how it works. I know everyone in Gumption. If I went to Chicago, I wouldn’t know _anyone_. Those giant buildings are taller ‘n anythin’ I ever seen. How can you make somethin’ so big that, no matter how hard ya try, you can’t see the top? I don’t understand it. I- I’d just get lost.” Angie looked down at the couch again. “I ain’t meant for a big city.”

“You’re scared.” Angie nodded silently. Stan scoffed. “Whatever happened to the Angie who was in love with the concept of a big city?”

“What?”

“I saw you! You want this. Ya want to go somewhere else, somewhere big and important. And you deserve that. Don’t be a fuckin’ wimp.” 

“Stan!” Angie said, aghast. 

“Hey, remember back when you shit all over my relationship with Ford? When you pretended you hated Violynn? This is me returnin’ the favor. Ya need tough love every now and then, especially to push ya to go somewhere else. Ya won’t get lost. Well, maybe you will. You’re not that good with directions.” Angie punched him on the arm playfully. “But have you ever gotten lost before?” She shook her head. “An’ that’s somethin’ you want. You said so! Ya want to be somewhere you can get lost in a crowd, or can’t see the tops of buildings. You’re meant for more than Gumption, and you know that.” Angie swallowed. Stan reached out and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “Next time a college calls, listen to ‘em. Ya need to leave. There ain’t anything for ya here.” Angie smiled crookedly.

“I ain’t so sure ‘bout that, Stan.”

“Son? Could ya come in here for a minute?” Pa McGucket called from the kitchen. Stan looked at Angie. She shrugged.

“Um, okay,” Stan replied. He patted Angie on the shoulder awkwardly and stood up. Upon walking into the kitchen, he saw Ma and Pa McGucket sitting at the table. He broke into a cold sweat. 

_This feels like when I would get called to the principal’s office, or what happened right before I got grounded._

“Have a seat,” Pa McGucket said, nodding at a chair. Stan sat in the chair he had indicated and waited nervously for Sally or Mearl to speak. Pa McGucket cleared his throat. “It’s come to our attention that yer father weren’t a good one.” 

“Is that what this is about? Because I’m really sorry that Angie had to see all of that at Backupsmore, but I made sure she stayed out of it. She didn’t get hurt.”

“Stan, this ain’t about what happened at Backupsmore,” Ma McGucket said gently. “This is about what happened to ya growin’ up.”

“Uh, what?”

“Fiddleford and Angie both said that, judgin’ from what ya yelled at yer father, he abused ya. Verbally and physically.” 

“He- he was strict, is all.”

“Strict parents don’t use belts,” Ma McGucket said softly. “Abusive ones do.” 

“An’ no decent parent insults his children,” Pa McGucket said fiercely. “Or kicks him out.” 

“Why are ya bringin’ this up?” Stan asked shakily.

“Ever since Basstian told us what he overheard, we’ve been thinkin’ about this,” Pa McGucket said. 

“Wait, what Basstian overheard?”

“He overheard that yer father made ya feel terrible ‘bout yourself.”

_I thought he was asleep when I said that!_

“What Angie and Fidds told us just sealed the deal,” Pa McGucket continued.

“Stanley, we want to ask ya somethin’,” Ma McGucket said kindly. She looked Stan directly in the eyes. “Do ya want to press charges against Filbrick?” Stan’s heart dropped. He stared at Sally and Mearl in shock.

“What?” he choked out. 

“Child abuse ain’t somethin’ that folks should get away with,” Pa McGucket said. “If ya want to press charges, let us know. We’ll be behind ya. We’ll get a lawyer and everythin’.” Like his wife, Pa McGucket met Stan’s eyes. “We want to make sure ya feel safe, son.” Stan swallowed.

“I _do_ feel safe, though. I mean, knowing that Pops is halfway across the country right now, that’s enough for me.” He looked down at the table, noticing for the first time that Harper and Lute had carved their names into it. Stan ran a thumb along the etched letters, realizing that he was telling the truth. For once, the idea that he could redeem himself to his father wasn’t weighing on him. “Pressin’ charges, that would be a huge mess, and I don’t want to make things rough for Mom or Ford. I don’t need to do any of that.” 

“Are ya sure?” Ma McGucket asked. Stan nodded.

“I’m sure.” He cracked a smile. “Anyways, watchin’ Pops get lead away in cuffs at Backupsmore was one of the best moments of my life. I don't care what he thinks anymore.”

 

“‘Bout time ya got back,” Stan said, looking up as Angie opened the door to his room. “I’m stuck on problem number eleven.” Angie was helping him with his homework, but she had been called away by one of her parents. Apparently another college wanted to talk to her. She sat down heavily on Stan’s bed, next to him, looking shell-shocked. “What’s wrong?”

“The college that just called,” she whispered, “it was West Coast Tech.” Stan dropped his pencil.

“Holy shit. West Coast Tech wants you?” Angie nodded. 

“Apparently their biology program is just gettin’ started, so they don’t have many applicants, and havin’ someone go there who’s been in the news would be good for ‘em.” She swallowed. “They also said somethin’ about wantin’ to reach out to more female scientists. Some activist groups have been breathin’ down their necks ‘cause they ain’t takin’ in enough minorities.” 

“Huh.”

“I don’t know if I wanna be a token,” Angie said quietly. She groaned. “But West Coast Tech is one of the best schools in the nation!”

“Yeah, it is. Did they offer you a spot right away?”

“Well, they said they wanted to interview me first, but I’m basically a shoo-in. And they’d give me a really good scholarship. Maybe a full ride if I can impress ‘em enough.”

“Token or not, you should do it.” Angie nodded.

“That’s what I’m thinkin’.” She took a deep breath. “I’ll just have to prove that I’m more ‘n a token.” Stan grinned.

“That’s the spirit!” Angie looked up at him, smiling. But the smile only lasted for a split second before it was wiped away. She looked down. It seemed like she was steeling herself. 

“There’s- there’s somethin’ I need to tell ya,” she said hesitantly.

“What?” Angie twisted her hands nervously.

“I-I like ya, Stan,” she said. Stan frowned, confused.

“Well, I like you too.” Angie shook her head.

“No, I mean that- I _like_ you.” She looked up, meeting his eyes, clearly begging him to understand what she meant. Stan started to say that he still didn’t know what she was talking about, but stopped. Things he’d said and overheard played in his mind.

_“The love of your life is big and strong.” “Do ya think anyone else knows I’ve got a crush?” “You know him better ‘n I do.” “Don’t tell my fam’ly.”_ He swallowed.

 _She blushes whenever she’s near me. When Ma McGucket said that she might change her mind about dating, she looked over at me. Oh, no._ Angie’s big blue eyes stared into his. _She has a crush…on_ me _?_

“Angie- I-” She looked down immediately. “Hey.” He put a hand on her shoulder. She looked at him again, already tearing up.

_She knows what I’m gonna say. I don’t want to. I don’t wanna break her heart. But she deserves the truth._

“I’m sorry. I’ve- I’ve never thought about you that way.” She nodded, sniffling. “Oh no, please don’t cry. I hate seein’ you cry.” She shook her head.

“Sorry,” she whispered.

“No, don’t be. I- I’m glad you were honest. But I have to be honest, too. I don’t like you in that way.” She shed a single tear. “Shit.” Unsure of what to do, he hugged her. “I’m so sorry. I don’t wanna make you cry. I don’t wanna hurt you. But I also don’t wanna lead ya on.”

“You- you only ever considered me a- a sister, didn’t ya,” she sobbed. Stan sighed. 

“I consider you a friend. And- and the last relationship I was in ended pretty badly. Dating ain’t the right thing for me right now. It’s prob’ly not the right thing for you, either.” He broke off the hug and held Angie at arm’s length. Stan met her eyes. She sniffled again. “You’re goin’ to college. Ya can’t be tied down. Not to someone who lives in a Podunk town in Arkansas.” Angie scoffed. 

“I don’t care.”

“You deserve better.” 

“I- I thought we worked on the whole ‘self-esteem’ thing.” Stan smiled weakly.

“You’re goin’ places. Even if I _did_ like you the same way you like me, I wouldn’t wanna do that to ya. Last time I tried to stop someone I cared about from livin’ his full potential, I fucked up his shot at a nice-ass school and got kicked outta my house. I won’t make the same mistake twice.” Angie looked down.

“If ya hadn’t done that, I never woulda met ya,” she said quietly. 

“I know. And I’m so fucking glad that I met you. But seriously, focus on your future. When ya finally date someone, it’ll work out. I know it. You’re a cute, smart, charmin’ girl.” Angie chuckled softly. “Any guy would be lucky to have you.” Stan paused. “Or any girl,” he added as an afterthought. “No judgement.” Angie laughed again. A nervous look suddenly crossed her face.

“Did- did I ruin things between us?” she asked. 

“Fuck no. Things’ll be better. Now that I’m not wonderin’ who you were crushin’ on.” She stared at him.

“You knew?”

“I may or may not have overheard your conversation with Violynn at Christmas.” She gasped and punched him playfully.

“Jerk!”

“See? We’re already back to normal.” Angie smiled weakly.

“No, we’re not.” She reached out and stroked his cheek. In her eyes, Stan could see the wistful longing lingering under her heartbreak. “Maybe we will be some day.” With that, she stood, turned around, and walked away. 

After she had left, Stan stared at his open textbook, no longer in the mood to do homework. Sighing softly, he closed it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did you think I was gonna have an intense battle between Stan and Filbrick? Nah, they're at a school, and schools hate people getting beaten up in their buildings. Also, I don't write fight scenes that well. Not my thing.  
> After I wrote the last scene in this chapter, I felt so bad for Angie that I ended up writing a scene that happens later on in this AU, but not in this fic. I may or may not post it in the follow-up fic. The next and final chapter gets Stan some more closure, and I've actually planned out the last sentence of it since I came up with this fic. Chapter 14 goes up Saturday!  
> As always, if you have any questions or comments, leave them below or message me at thelastspeecher.tumblr.com.


	14. Become Yourself

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And so **become yourself** /Because the past is just a goodbye – Crosby, Stills & Nash, “Teach Your Children”

Graduation was today. 

Stan stood in the hallway of Gumption High School, fidgeting with the uncomfortable robe and hat. A few places further up the line, he could see Angie bouncing on the balls of her feet excitedly. After Stan had turned her down, she’d moped for a few days, before rebounding with the energy and enthusiasm he’d come to associate her with. But every now and then, he’d catch her looking at him with a strange expression, or she would laugh at one of his jokes for too long. 

_Her crush ain’t quite crushed. But she seems like she wants to move past it. Can’t blame her. I mean, she_ is _going to California pretty soon. God, the house is gonna be so empty. I’ll be the only one home._

“So, Stan, are ya goin’ off to college?” Lost in his thoughts, Stan startled at Gerry Oswald’s question. Gerry was standing directly in front of him in line, looking at him expectantly. 

“Uh, no.”

“Yer grades were pretty good, I thought.”

“Yeah, but college ain’t the kinda life I want,” Stan said. “I’ll be fine without a degree.”

“You’ll be the first of them McGucket kids to not go to college,” Gerry said thoughtfully. He nodded appreciatively. “Takes courage to tell Mr. and Mrs. McGucket that.”

“Uh, what?” Stan asked, caught off guard by being referred to as “one of them McGucket kids”. 

“Oh yeah, Mr. and Mrs. McGucket never went to college, so they wanted all their kids to do that.”

“No, I mean-” Stan was cut off by shushing being passed down the line. 

“It’s starting!” someone hissed unnecessarily. Stan swallowed as the line slowly moved forward. Angie looked back at him briefly, smiling exuberantly. He responded with a somewhat hesitant smile of his own. When he walked into the gym, his heart began to race. He looked around, searching for familiar faces. 

_There they are!_ The entirety of the McGucket family was sitting in one of the front rows. His heart leapt at the sight of another familiar face, sitting next to Fiddleford. _Ford’s here?_ Ford looked up, saw Stan staring, and grinned. Stan grinned back.

 

After a speech from a valedictorian that took far too long, a song sung by the school choir, and a brief power outage, they had finally progressed to handing out the diplomas. Out of the corner of his eye, Stan could see the McGuckets and Ford applauding politely. At least, until Angie’s name was called. When the youngest McGucket received her diploma, her family leapt up, hooting and hollering. Stan joined in, whistling from his seat. Angie grinned at the recognition. Someone nudged Stan, and he looked away from Angie, just then noticing that his row was being lead up to the stage. He followed Gerry, suddenly nervous.

_What if they don’t call my name? Oh, god, that would fucking suck. Why did I do this?_

“Gerald Oswald. Stanley McGucket.”

_Wait, what did he just say?_

“HA!” Stan recognized that bark of laughter.

_Dammit, Ford._ His twin’s amusement was accompanied by scattered snickering. The vice principle whispered something in the ear of the person announcing names.

“Sorry, Pines. Stanley Pines.” Just like they had for Angie, the McGuckets erupted into cheers when Stan’s actual name was called. 

Stan smiled. 

 

The graduating class milled around aimlessly, finding friends and standing by them while the principle said something that was probably important, but no one was paying attention to.

_Well, that’s what you get for letting a bunch of teenagers do whatever they want after they’ve officially graduated, instead of making them sit back down._

“And so, it is with great excitement that I congratulate all of y’all here today, our largest graduatin’ class from Gumption High School!” the principle said at last. There was scattered applause. “Ya can toss yer hats now.” Stan joined everyone else in cheering and tossing the weird-ass square hats. His heart soared as he watched the rented cap fly away from him. 

_I did it? I did it! Hell yes!_ Caught up in the moment, Stan grabbed the person closest to him and kissed her right on the lips. Her eyes widened. _Shit._

Angie recoiled instinctively, rather than from disgust. She stared at him, blue eyes as big as saucers and roiling with a mixture of emotions Stan couldn’t identify. A bright red blush had already spread across most of her face. 

_Fuck. I turn her down and then I kiss her? That definitely counts as “mixed messages”._

“Shit, Angie, I’m sorry, I don’t know what I was thinkin’.” Angie turned a deeper shade of red. “I have no fucking clue why I did that.”

“It’s a common trait that Pines men share,” a familiar voice drawled. Stan spun around. His jaw dropped. “In fact, I kissed my wife for the first time when I got excited over the Cornhuskers winning their last game of the season,” Shermie Pines continued. He winked at Angie. “It was one hell of a talking point.” 

“Shermie, what are you doin’ here?” Stan asked. “I mean, I’m happy to see you, but…I thought you weren’t gonna be stateside for a few more years.”

“Honorable discharge.”

“What? Why?” Stan asked, confused. Shermie shrugged. 

“I don’t wanna go into it right now. But Ford told me about you finally graduating from high school, so I thought I’d show up.” Shermie leaned in conspiratorially. “I think he might be a bit miffed that I didn’t go to his, but I went to yours.” Stan grinned.

“So who are you?” Angie asked bluntly, having recovered from the moment of embarrassment. Her cheeks were still slightly pink, but she seemed to want to move on from Stan’s celebratory kiss. 

“Angie, this is my older brother, Sherman,” Stan said. “I told you ‘bout him, didn’t I?”

“You mentioned him a couple times,” Angie said slowly. “Pleased to meet ya, Sherman.”

“Pleased to meet you too, Angie. And please, call me Shermie.” 

“Angie!” someone shouted. Angie turned.

“Leighanne!” she said excitedly, stepping a few feet away and starting up a new conversation. Shermie beckoned Stan closer. 

“Listen, Ford told me what you told Pops.” Stan’s heart stopped.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. And holy shit, am I proud of you for telling that bastard exactly what you thought of him.”

“It’s the truth.”

“Doesn’t make it any less brave to say it.” Shermie patted Stan on the back. “Now, I’m sure we’ll catch up later, but I’ve gotta find this ‘Mrs. McGucket’ that everyone loves so much.”

“She doesn’t have the big nose, so good luck.” 

“‘Big nose’? Isn’t that a bit ‘pot calling the kettle black’?” Stan elbowed his older brother playfully. Shermie winked at him one last time before disappearing into the crowd. 

Meanwhile, Angie had finished her conversation and was about to follow Leighanne somewhere else. Before she could walk away, Stan grabbed her arm.

“Angie,” Stan said quietly. Angie turned to face him.

“Yes?”

“Don’t tell your parents, please.” She widened her eyes innocently.

“Don’t tell ‘em what?”

“That I kissed you.” Angie smiled, in the same smartass way Lute did.

“Why would I? A girl’s first kiss is s’posed to be somethin’ she keeps to herself.”

_I was her first kiss? Well, shit._

“Stan, congratulations!” Stan was broken out of his momentary reverie by the arrival of his twin brother. Ford threw an arm around Stan, grinning genially. “Took you a little while, but you did it.”

“No thanks to you,” Stan replied snarkily, punching Ford playfully. He looked back at Angie, but she was gone, swallowed up by the crowd. 

_I really hope she doesn’t tell anyone. I don’t want Lute to kick my ass for breaking his sister’s heart and then kissing her._

“Seriously, Stan. You did a really nice job. Mr. and Mrs. McGucket told me about how good your grades were,” Ford continued, not picking up on Stan’s split attention. “But I’m a broke college student, so I wasn’t able to get you anything.”

“Eh, ya didn’t need to. I’m fine. It’s not like I’m goin’ anywhere, anyways,” Stan replied casually, deciding to drop his search for Angie and focus on Ford. 

“Yeah, you never seemed like the college type.” Ford swallowed, suddenly appearing to be nervous. 

“What’s wrong?” 

“Well, Shermie and I are here, but…Mom couldn’t make it,” Ford said. His sheepish tone made Stan wonder if that was really the case. At least, until Ford handed him something. “She wanted me to give this to you.” Stan looked down at the envelope in his hands. It was addressed to “Ley”.

_Mom hasn’t called me that since I was a kid._ He swallowed, and with shaking hands, slowly opened it.

 

_Stanley,_

_I’m sorry I couldn’t be there for your high school graduation. I wasn’t sure if you wanted me there, and anyways, your father’s been in worse of a temper than usual lately. I get the feeling you might have had something to do with that. But what do I know? I’m not a real psychic, despite what you and your brothers thought when you were younger._

_But I’ve wanted to talk to you since the moment your father kicked you out of the house. I shouldn’t have stood by and let it happen. I should have stood up for you, protected you, just like I always promised. I’d say that I’m not sure why I did it, but I actually do know._

_Your father was talking about forcing you to enlist. He never viewed you or Stanford very well, as you know. And when you weren’t making headlines like Stanford, your father decided that you should do what Shermie did, and join the military. I didn’t intervene that night, because I thought that I’d rather have a son on the streets of New Jersey than in the jungles in Vietnam. If you stayed in Glass Shard Beach, I could at least keep an eye on you from a distance. If you went halfway across the world, you might not come back._

_I made the wrong choice for the right reason, Stanley. I wanted to protect you. I should have done that by not letting your father do what he did all those years. I should have left with you and your brothers the day that Filbrick first hit Shermie with that damn belt. I should have walked out that door, holding your hand, and never looked back. I considered it. But I didn’t._

_Why? Well, that’s a complicated question, one that, if you’d ever had a sister, you would understand a bit better. Life isn’t easy for a woman in this world, even now, let alone back when you kids were born. I took a chance, but I never was that good at gambling._

_You, on the other hand, are a natural. Vegas will shake in its boots when you turn 21. You left New Jersey with complete strangers, and ended up with a place to stay, a job, a high school diploma, and above all else, a family that would never do what your father and I have done. I can’t describe how proud I am of my youngest child, for hitting rock bottom, only to end up at the top of Everest._

_I know I failed as a mother. I should have taken better care of all of my children. Still, I hope that I can make it up to you, and your brothers, one day. But from what Stanford tells me, you’re in good hands. Thank Mrs. McGucket for being a better mother than I was, for looking after and loving my baby boy._

_I love you._

_\- Mom_

 

Stan finished reading the letter with a lump in his throat. 

“You all right?” Ford asked softly.

“Y-yeah. I’m fine,” Stan choked out, folding the letter up and sticking it in his back pocket. 

“I mean, you _are_ tearing up.”

“Got somethin’ in my eye is all.” Ford rolled his eyes.

“I wonder where I’ve heard _that_ before.”

“Howdy there, Stanley McGucket,” Fiddleford said with a grin, approaching the twins. His father was with him.

“Okay, here’s my question,” Ford said abruptly. “How many people graduated today?”

“Thirty-seven,” Pa McGucket replied.

“That man had to learn only thirty-seven names and he _still_ messed up.”

“To be fair, a lot of folks have been askin’ me if Sally and I actually adopted Stan,” Pa McGucket said. “They seem to be under the impression that he’s one of the McGuckets.”

“Yeah, that’s a bit weird,” Stan said, thinking back to his conversation with Gerry.

“Didn’t ya start callin’ all my kids yer siblings?” Pa McGucket teased.

“That prob’ly contributed,” Fiddleford admitted. “Nothin’ says ‘family’ like callin’ folks yer brothers and sisters.” He gave Stan a hearty pat on the back. “Not to contribute to the mass perception that yer a McGucket, but…I’m proud of ya, brother.”

“Thanks, man.”

_So many people saying they’re proud of me. Even after living with the McGuckets for a year, I’m still not used to it._

“Anyways, I gotta go find Angie,” Fiddleford continued. “Stan, yer gift is at the house, but I got hers with me. One of them field books she likes. Have ya seen her?”

“Uh, not after everyone threw their hats in the air,” Stan fibbed. 

“Hmm. Well, gotta start somewhere. Come on, Ford.”

“High six?” Stan asked quickly, before Ford could follow his boyfriend. Ford grinned.

“High six.” After Stan and Ford had high-fived, Fiddleford tugged Ford into the crowd with him, saying something about twins and secret languages. Stan chuckled.

_Of course Fidds would think that Ford and I have a secret language, and ignore what a high six actually is. Paranoia and overthinking runs in his family. What was his weird cousin’s name? Thistlebert?_

“Stanley,” Pa McGucket said quietly, grabbing Stan’s attention and distracting him from mentally going through the McGucket family tree.

“What?” Without warning, Pa McGucket enveloped him in an intense hug. And then he said the five words Stan never thought he’d hear from a father.

“I’m proud of you, son.” Stan swallowed and responded with two words he’d never thought he would say.

“Thanks, dad.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There we have it, folks. We have reached the end of this tale. But I've still got a _lot_ of content for the Stanley McGucket AU, so there will be a follow-up fic to this. I'm not sure when "Stan Pines, Farmhand" will go up, but it'll focus more on some of the ways Stan adjusted to life with the McGuckets, and have scenes I wanted to include in this fic, but couldn't. It'll also have some scenes that take place after the end of this fic.  
>  I'm going to start working on "In Another World" again, but we'll see how well my muse chooses to cooperate...  
> Anyways, this was a super duper fun fic to write and I cannot believe the overwhelming support I got. Thank you so much, everyone, for commenting and bookmarking and leaving kudos. It means a lot to me.  
> As always, if you have any questions or comments, leave them below or message me at thelastspeecher.tumblr.com.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Stanford McGucket](https://archiveofourown.org/works/11289816) by [Nour386](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nour386/pseuds/Nour386)




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